


It's Nothing Special

by Asher_Ephraim



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blackmail, Bondage, Burnplay, Casual Sex, Consensual Kink, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infidelity, Kink Negotiation, Kink Shaming, M/M, Mitaka is not nice, No Aftercare, Office Sex, Opan is a creep, Partner Betrayal, Past Rape/Non-con, Poor Hux, Roleplay, School Uniforms, Self-Hatred, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Addiction, Sex Tapes, Slut Shaming, Teacher/Student Roleplay, Total Power Exchange, Uniform Kink, Weapons Kink, brief mention of past murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-09-16 08:03:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16950171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asher_Ephraim/pseuds/Asher_Ephraim
Summary: Armitage knows, surely he must know by now, but instead of confronting Dopheld, he loses himself in the Starkiller project. And Dopheld? Dopheld loses himself in other men.





	1. Our Eyes Are Dry

Hux is perfect for him in every way but one. The redhead refuses to have—take—use—him the way he so badly wants. And given Armitage’s troubled history with men, Dopheld can’t fault him for that unwillingness to even try.

For over two years, Dopheld had himself convinced that what they had together was enough.

It isn’t.

And Armitage knows, Dopheld can see it in the tightness around the redhead’s eyes when he vanishes for an evening without explanation, when Hux simply says, “Have a good workout” flatly but asks no questions either when he leaves (freshly showered, shaved, and occasionally plugged) or when he returns, sweaty and exhausted, likely smelling of someone else.

Armitage knows, surely he must know by now. But he doesn’t care enough to fight about it. Instead, he pours himself into the Starkiller Project and Dopheld—well, Dopheld loses himself in other men.

* * *

Very early on in their relationship, when they were still discreetly dating, Hux had asked Dopheld if he had any fantasies. In the interest of honesty (surely that mattered, especially when building the foundation of something), Mitaka had smiled dreamily and spoken.

He disclosed that his submissive nature extended far below the surface, that having men confidently order him around had always heated him up. Shyly he spoke of the few times he’d been treated roughly—spanked, tossed around, held down—and how good it had been. And then he’d waited for Armitage’s verdict.

Instead of talking, Hux gave him a look. His lips were pressed into a thin line, the muscles around his eyes drawn tight. “I don’t think I’d be able to do that,” he finally stated.

“Could you try?” Dopheld asked meekly.

“I imagine it would be likely to… stir up some memories I’d rather leave undisturbed.”

“Oh.” Dopheld placed his hand lightly over Armitage’s. “You don’t have to tell me, but. If you’d like to.”

Blinking as if the lights had suddenly become far brighter, the redhead stared across the room. “I was raped, repeatedly,” he says slowly. “Shortly after I entered Arkanis. There were two older cadets who… well. It lasted for some time. Over the course of about a year.”

“Kriff, I’m so sorry,” Dopheld mumbled, feeling like an utter dick for bringing the topic up at all.

“It only stopped when I killed them.”

“Good,” the ensign answered decisively. “I’m glad they’re dead.” How else did one respond to a revelation like that?

Later, bit by bit he had gathered the details about Hux’s ongoing assault, scooping up the pieces from quiet conversations after the lights had been turned off. The slapping, ropes, biting, handcuffs, belting, insults. Everything Dopheld knew he liked or wanted to try had already been ruined for Armitage.

Very quickly Dopheld came to hate those two unnamed men—not only for harming Hux but also selfishly, for limiting the scope of their activities together. 

* * *

Hux hardly ever fucks him anymore. They’ve been together five standard years, gotten into a routine by now, and Mitaka can’t fault the man for putting a certain distance between them. Still, nearly every night Mitaka shuffles between the general’s legs and blows him. Hux doesn’t ask for it; Mitaka just gives wordlessly.

He owes the man that much.

The lieutenant jerks off during, or after, or not at all depending on his mood. At least Hux usually tilts his head back so that he never notices when Dopheld tears up. Because sometimes he does. It isn’t from the dick in his mouth, since Dopheld doesn’t have a gag reflex and Hux doesn’t thrust deeply anyway. Armitage isn’t like that, he is incapable of treating a partner roughly.

Dopheld tries to pinpoint when the space between them began to grow, and can’t help but suspect it was even before his first fuck-up.

Thanisson. That’s the fuck-up’s name. 

Grimacing at the memory, Dopheld steps out of the sonic and pulls on his socks. It hadn’t even been that good. But the Chief Petty Officer was pretty, cocky, and most importantly, someone new.

Someone who might—

_Don’t_ _. Just get ready for work._

_(Who might have given you what you want.)_

The distance started with him, it began as a pinprick of need unfulfilled that eventually revealed itself to be a singularity: dark, massive, heedlessly sucking down everything in its path.

“You stupid bastard,” he whispers to himself. Does he think a certain quota of apology blowjobs would erase his debt of deception and betrayal?

Especially if he continues to add to it.

 

He catches sight of Thanisson on the bridge and berates himself again. They rarely interact, as they rarely interacted before the Incident. That’s how Dopheld thinks of it when he’s on duty. He tries to pretend that getting drunk and being shagged by the blond in what amounted to a public fucking toilet was simply a natural disaster. Like a hurricane or a tornado, unfortunate but hardly preventable.

“Hey,” Thanisson mumbles to him in the junior officers’ lounge that evening.

Hux is down on the Base, supervising and micromanaging as only he can do. Dopheld’s bed is cold, his mind jumpy. “Hello,” he replies as crisply as possible given the three bourbons under his belt. He doesn’t use alcohol to get drunk; he uses it as an excuse.

“You’re alone tonight,” Thanisson observes.

“Yes. My better half is away for a bit.” He can’t mistake the responding glint in Thanisson’s eyes.

“Up for something?” the petty officer asks, leaning in to play with Dopheld’s collar. The lieutenant has given him every reason to believe this attention is wanted. Sometimes it is, and he despises himself for that.

 _Yes_ , his gut answers for him. “Yes,” he echoes aloud.

 

“Ah, fuck me _harder_ ,” he begs not twenty minutes later, crouched on Thanisson’s bed with the petty office between his legs.

“Can I spank you?” Thanisson asks, grabbing handfuls of Dopheld’s ass.

“Yes, Maker, please!”

The first smack is tentative, just feeling out Dopheld’s limits.

“I can take a good deal more punishment than that, Niels,” he assures. The second is an improvement, and the third sends him reeling. “Perfect!” he shouts.

“I was so glad to see you out tonight. I’ve been desperate to unload like this. That is—” he leans in and sucks at Dopheld’s earlobe. “As long as you want it.”

“You know I do.”

“You’re such a fucking come-slut, Dopheld. I bet you could get off just by having guys cream your arse.”

“I have done, Niels. Nothing more required. Yes, yes, treat me like you’re paying me.”

“But I don’t need to. You’ll take it for free.”

He will. He’ll take this, and more, one failure at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes: infidelity/cheating - Hux may be aware but doesn't confront Mitaka - mention of past rape - mention of past murder of said rapists - kink-mismatch between partners


	2. But We're Bored to Tears

On the third night of Armitage’s current stay on base, Dopheld finds himself back on PRISM, the _Finalizer_ ’s private messaging system. It’s a platform where service members talk about non-work-related topics, from exchanging family recipes to setting up darts tournaments to far more lurid discussions. He goes through phases where he either uses the service obsessively or shuns it like he is allergic. His whims change depending on whether or not he is currently looking for a new partner. Or partners, as the case may be.

Dopheld flags his profile as “active” and sets his message to: _26 yo submissive gay male looking to please. Be clean (both hygienic and disease-free), between the ages of 24 and 65, and send a headshot. I’m relatively fit, disease-free, and up for kink. Let’s discuss._

The rest of his stats are imported from his service record: height 179 cm, weight 70 kilograms. Brown hair and eyes.

Every time he types out that he’s disease-free, he adds the word _miraculously_ in his mind. Beyond never having had an STI, he is in generally good health. He doesn’t mention the mild social anxiety, figuring it doesn’t count here, since it isn’t catching.

A dialogue box opens on his screen with a bleep indicating receipt of a new private message.

_EP: I think I know you._

_EP: Does Hux know you do this?_

Speaking of anxiety, he feels a spike instantly run up his spine to jolt his brain into feverish activity. He half-lies.

_D: Yes._

_EP: And he doesn’t mind?_

_D: [Shrug] Apparently not._

Dopheld clicks on the person’s profile to scan it for familiarity. Forty-eight standard years old, medium build, senior officer.

_D: Captain Peavey, sir?_

_EP: Hello, Dopheld. How are you tonight?_

_D: Bored, sir. What are you looking for?_

_EP: Things my wife doesn’t need to know about._

Once upon a time, Dopheld made it a rule to not screw around with men who were cheating on their partners. But that was back when he was single; back before Hux. Still, he finds the idea of it distasteful—and defends this stance by saying he wants to avoid drama. He is already damaging his own relationship but would prefer to limit the fallout to his own personal life. At least Peavey’s wife is a distant concept, not a woman who could potentially walk up to Dopheld on the bridge and cause a scene.

_D: I’m discreet, Captain. I have to be._

_EP: Excellent. I can’t have her grasping for my pension after finding out what I like to do with much younger men._

By now he shouldn’t be surprised, after all the purportedly straight men who have propositioned him. But he is—surprised by Peavey. The staid older officer has always seemed so… well, hetero. But Dopheld is willing to see where this goes. He has a mental image of Peavey backing him against a corridor and ordering him to his knees. So he has to ask.

_D: And what sort of things are those, sir?_

_EP: Your profile mentions kink. Well, I’m into tying pretty boys down and taking what I want from their helpless bodies._

         Dopheld lets out a soft whine from the back of his throat and presses a palm against the sudden bulge in his pants.

_D: Oh yes, please, sir._

They talk terms: acts, limits, desires. They share medical clearances. Within an hour, Dopheld is stepping back into his old cadet’s uniform. It’s a bit worn at the elbows and knees (little wonder why) but still serviceable. Glancing in the mirror, he figures he could pass for twenty. Perhaps eighteen in a forgiving light—and if the viewer is looking to be convinced.

Within another thirty minutes, he is draped over Peavey’s lap and receiving a solid paddling. His offense had something to do with being a dirty little whore and thereby tarnishing his Academy’s reputation. He doesn’t dwell on the details of the fantasy narrative. Instead he revels in the bruising impacts and his own mantra of “Thank you, sir. May I have another?”

Over and over, until Peavey decides he has had enough, lifts him up, and carries him to the bedroom. His clothing is removed and folded away. Restraints (leather but cushioned with a lining of felt) are fitted around both wrists, both ankles—they’d gone over this—and then fastened to a hogtie. Really, he wishes he’d known about this side of Peavey earlier. The man isn’t particularly good-looking in a typical sense, but he has a presence to him, a pleasant voice, and apparently knows his way around BDSM. It affords him more attractiveness than otherwise expected.

“Are you comfortable?” Peavey inquires, softly resting a hand on the back of Dopheld’s right thigh.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you feel any pinching, stinging, or numbness at all?”

“No, sir.”

“Let me know if you do. I’ll be keeping your mouth free in case you need to warn me about something or use your safe-word.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It’s also for my benefit, of course. I want to hear you come apart.” He applies lubricant to his hand and carefully fingers Dopheld open. The lieutenant wonders how straight this man actually is, or if his marriage is entirely a sham. Soon enough, the captain is asking about his readiness and Dopheld is murmuring his assent. When Peavey finally enters him, slowly and smoothly, the captain sighs, the sound almost wistful. “We ought to have been doing this for months. I just figured that you were in a more standard sort of relationship.”

He’d rather not talk about Armitage now, especially once Peavey begins to rock inside him, holding onto the central knot of the hogtie. “I am permitted a certain leniency as long as I— _nngh_ —play safe and only— _ohh, sir, yes, sir!_ —engage in activities that he and I do not do together.” It sounds plausible: he can almost believe what he’s saying.

“Oh? I’m a bit surprised. I would have pegged Hux as the kinky one. But one never knows, does one?”

“No, sir.” This isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last, that a man has been startled to discover the extent of Dopheld’s hobbies.

“Wow. I’m so impressed with your body.” He lets out a long sigh before gripping Dopheld’s hips with both gloved hands to hold him steadily in place. “Who knew you were hiding this beautiful arse under your uniform?”

He thanks Peavey profusely.

The captain releases Dopheld’s ankles from their clips and massages his calves. Satisfied that Dopheld’s muscles won’t be cramping up, he reaches for a delicate implement on the nightstand. “You’ve had one of these used on you before?” he asks, showing it to Mitaka.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Is it something you’ve enjoyed?”

“It is, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“So polite,” Peavey murmurs affectionately as he slowly runs the tiny teeth of the pinwheel between the lieutenant’s shoulders.

Dopheld’s skin prickles, the stimulus at the precise border between tickling and painful. His muscles twitch and he whimpers quietly.

“Oh, fuck,” Peavey whispers. “Listen to you. I can hardly believe you’re willingly submitting to this. To _me._ ”

Smiling dreamily off to one side, Mitaka swears, “I only want to be good for you, sir.”

“You are, Dopheld. You are.” He plays with the wheel a bit longer, tracing nonsense patterns over Dopheld’s back, watching him squirm with nowhere to go. Setting it back on the table, he returns to Dopheld’s body with more lubricant on his cock and rougher treatment in mind. “Now you’re going to take me like you have no choice. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Dopheld mumbles onto his pillow, reveling in Peavey’s authority—and appreciating the allusion to his own consent. It is only _as though_ he has no choice: but he does, and this is what he chooses.

After more than ten minutes of Peavey working him over, Dopheld’s back is bathed in a light sweat and he’s grunting at each thrust. “Yes, yes, yes, harder, sir! Please?”

Chuckling, Peavey wipes his forehead and answers, “I don’t think ‘sir’ can go much harder. I’m not in good enough shape for you.”

“I could ride you, Captain.”

“So you could.” He pulls out slowly and begins fussing with the restraints. He keeps the cuffs on but only locks Dopheld’s wrists together, this time in front. “Over my head,” he directs, pulling Dopheld’s clasped hands around his neck. “And right down on my cock.”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Dopheld moans. Instantly he starts rocking, never mind the stretch. This is what he wanted, after all.

“I admit, I’m going to look at you a bit differently after tonight.” Peavey takes a light hold of Dopheld's hips to steady him while he finds his rhythm.

“That so, sir?”  he inquires, feeling his hair flop around as he gyrates in a tight circle, certain he’s starting to look a real mess but not caring. _After all, you did say you wanted me to come apart._

“Mm. I’m going to be reminded of just how talented a lay you are.”

He briefly wonders if this means the senior officer will be interested in further assignations; he hopes so. “Thank you, Captain.”

“No, thank _you_ , Lieutenant.” Peavey pulls him in for a quick, sloppy kiss.

Dopheld rises and falls as energetically as possible, feeling his scalp prickle and his hair curl with perspiration. “Where would you— _ah, ah_ —like to come, sir?” he pants.

“Oh, the agony of choice,” Peavey groans. “Tell me what you’d prefer, if given the choice.”

It isn’t his place to request anything, but when asked, he’ll share his opinion. “In my arse, if you please, Captain Peavey.”

“Yes,” Peavey answers, drawing out the sibilance. “I’ll give you just what you want. You’ve been very good, so I’ll come in your arse.”

Dopheld groans happily and clings to Peavey’s shoulders. “Does that mean you’re close, sir?”

With a light chuckle, the captain answers, “Dopheld, I’ve been close for a good quarter hour now. Although,” he says, squeezing Dopheld’s dick as if to signal a change in topic, “I think I’d like you to come first.”

“Thank you, sir. Do you want me to wank onto you?” Of course, he’d need a hand free for that, a luxury he doesn’t currently have.

“I’d prefer to have that pleasure, if you’ll allow me.”

 _My, aren_ _’t we being polite?_ “By all means, sir.”

Peavey spits into his hand and works it over the head of Dopheld’s cock. The lieutenant lets his eyelids droop shut and tilts his head back. “Mm.”

“That’s it. Go on and fuck my fist while you ride my cock.”

He does: at the end of each grind down, he slides a bit forward and up. He feels his eyes cross beneath the lids. “Fuck. Oh, fuck, sir.” This is it, his gut is tightening, his fingers itching for something to dig into.

“Go on, Dopheld. Come on me, come for me, come with me inside you, you gorgeous fucking thing—”

“Maker! Fuck, Captain!” He gasps once, a thirsty rasp for more air, and spills through Peavey’s fingers.

“Very good, Lieutenant.” The words are formal, but Peavey is smiling kindly. He pulls Dopheld forward and kisses him: forehead, both cheeks, then disarmingly on the tip of his nose. Dopheld drops his head onto Peavey’s broad left shoulder, sagging against the older officer. “Just a bit longer, now. Can you still ride, or do you need to lie down?”

“Lie down, I think,” he says blearily, wiping the sweat from his forehead on his upper arm.

“Of course. Here goes.” Peavey lifts Dopheld by the underarms and pulls him off his lap. “On your stomach all right?”

Dopheld nods. The exhaustion has set in. Peavey unclips his wrist-cuffs and arranges him quickly, sliding a pillow under his hips and spreading his legs. Otherwise Dopheld is lying flat and useless when Peavey enters him for the last time.

“Maker, your arse is so bloody hot and—Fuck, I can’t think. I had no idea how amazing you… But hell, now I know. Yes, Dopheld: now I know about you.” Peavey’s movements become short and shallow, but apparently quite satisfactory given the intensity of his moan when he spends.

As Peavey slides his wilting cock out, Dopheld feels the accompanying dribble of come and lube onto his inner thighs. He’s too tired and sated to be self-conscious about the mess. Peavey is murmuring something, kissing the side of his face, and rubbing his lower back. He’s dazed, and knows it isn’t just the sex. He hasn’t been in proper subspace in weeks, and he’s so grateful to be back.

“Shh, darling. Just lie there, take your time. I’m going to get a washcloth and some water, but I’ll be right back.” He stands and pauses by the bed. “Is there anything else you’d like?”

“Smoke. I’d like to smoke.”

Peavey laughs. “Of course. Just a moment.” After untold moments, he returns with a damp cloth, a glass of water, a cigarra case, and a heavy sparker. He towels off Dopheld’s arse and inner thighs while the lieutenant takes gulps from the glass. Then he lights two cigarras and passes one over. “How do you think that went, Dopheld?”

“Much better than I was expecting. For a first time with someone.”

“I’m glad to hear that. And I hope that means you’d be open for a reprise at some point.”

“Yes,” Dopheld agrees easily, releasing a puff of smoke. “Certainly.”

A smile breaks across Peavey’s face. “Ah, good. Might you have any interest in being suspended?”

“You do rigging?” Dopheld asks, feeling his stomach clench and balls tighten at the thought.

“Some. Only very basic setups, though. I’m still learning.”

“That’s fine. Do you think you could manage something where you’d fuck me whilst I’m in the air?”

“That’s precisely what I was imagining.”

After stubbing out his cigarra in the ashtray provided him, Dopheld dozes off briefly with Peavey petting his hair. He imagines it’s Armitage touching him, that the redhead was the one to make him feel this good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes: more cheating - cheating on the part of both partners this time - Dopheld has sex with a married man - RACK - scene is negotiated beforehand - restraints - bare-backing - but clearances are shared ahead of time - praise - subspace - aftercare  
> Conclusion: Edrison Peavey is also a cheater, but he's a decent partner for Mitaka.


	3. Flyboy & Trash

Although Dopheld usually finds men through the PRISM messaging system, sometimes he still enjoys going about things the old-fashioned way: heading to one of the bars on board, ordering a few drinks, and seeing what happens. It’s a hit-or-miss strategy, to be sure, but tonight he could certainly use the alcohol. Besides, he hasn’t been out to socialise since Hux’s first night away, and it does him good to occasionally interact with people when he’s not contractually obliged to do so.

Last night, the fourth of Hux’s trip, he spent at home alone, worn out from a full shift on the heels of his late night with Edrison Peavey. Tonight, the captain is otherwise occupied (a real pity) but Mitaka needs an outlet once again.

He texts Unamo and they meet at the Black and Grey Lounge on Deck 14, one of the few places where junior officers and NCOs comfortably mix off-duty. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s familiar, and there’s a nice darts set-up that one day Dopheld will work up the courage to try his hand at. He used to be pretty good, but that was back at Arkanis and he’s had plenty of time to get rusty.

Unamo knows all about his sketchy activities, and she doesn’t exactly approve but she still agrees to spend time with him. She lets him use her as an alibi. He suspects she didn’t think the arrangement would last this long, that it would either be a few men and he’d get over himself or Hux would find out and the two of them would be back to life as single friends going out for drinks.

But it’s been three years of this shit.

“You looking tonight?” she asks him, dragging the cherry through the top of her drink in lazy circles like a fat swimmer pretending to do laps.

“When am I not?” he retorts.

“I dunno, when you’re asleep?”

“Exactly. As you can see, I’m quite awake.”

“Could you please do me a favour and at least promise me it won’t be Thanisson?” she asks wearily, finally taking pity on the cherry and popping it in her mouth.

She has good reason to demand this, considering that she’d been there the night that both Dopheld and said NCO had gotten plastered and ended up in one of the stalls of the B & G’s men’s room. “Sure. It won’t be Thanisson.” It’s an easy promise to make, even if it won’t hold up in court. But he already has his eyes on two or three men here, none of them blond.

“You are probably the thirstiest bitch I’ve ever met,” she declares and bites down viciously with her teeth bared, not taking any care to keep the juice from squirting across the table.

Ignoring the cherry spray, Dopheld agrees, “Yep. I’m sure that’s the case. What about you?”

“Me?” Unamo points to her chest as though she’s shocked to be the topic of conversation for once. “Oh, me? I’m dandy. I’m in a committed relationship with my vibrator and would hate to make it jealous.”

He rolls his eyes at the smug proclamation. “Tell me a dick isn’t better.”

“A dick isn’t better. Except when it is.”

Dopheld volunteers to get the next round because it’s an excuse to get up and show off his arse in his recreational pants and therefore an opportunity for someone to waylay him.

“Hey,” a voice calls to him.

“Evening,” he answers, turning around with a drink in either hand to face a man with brown hair flopping into his eyes, sporting a pilot’s jacket and a build that indicates a good amount of time spent in the gym.

“How are you doing?” The question is accompanied by a quick full-body scan of Dopheld’s figure.

“Well enough. Hoping for better.”

“Is that for your date?” the man asks.

Eyebrows raising at the obviously ulterior-motive-laden question, Dopheld answers, “No. It’s for my lady friend over there.” He indicates Unamo with a careful motion of her drink. Just to make the situation crystal clear, he explains, “We’re each other’s wingmen.” There’s also a possibility that the man’s question was actually about Unamo, and he’d hate to cock-block her.

“Good deal. Could I help you carry something?”

“No, thanks. I’ll need to drop this off to tell her I may be ditching her very shortly.”

“Found someone already?” he asks, turning around in circles, all too innocently pretending to survey the crowd.

“I hope so,” Dopheld answers and steps away, mouthing over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back.” Exaggerating the sway of his hips as he walks back to the table, he hands over Unamo’s drink.

She scowls at him briefly, but the expression has no staying power. “Score?”

“That’s the hope, darling.” Leaving once more, he gives her a wave.

“Text me his room number in case he murders you,” she calls out sweetly.

Ignoring Unamo, Dopheld returns to the bar where the pilot is grinning at him triumphantly. “You came back,” he says, flicking stray hairs out of his blue eyes. Dopheld wants to run his own fingers through it and shove his tongue right between those smiling lips.

“I’m a man of my word when it comes to this sort of thing. So, what do you do?” He really doesn’t care but has found that others generally expect some level of banal chit-chat before getting naked. Otherwise it might feel too transactional, like hiring a hooker. And Dopheld, cheap date that he is, doesn’t want to draw that parallel.

“I’m a pilot.”

“Nice,” he answers. “TIEs?” The man nods and Dopheld leans to one side to look over the patch on his shoulder. “You’re being modest, Squadron Leader.” All right, now he’ll admit he’s impressed.

“Well. I’m good at what I do.”

Mitaka looks him up and down, thinking, _I certainly hope you are_. “So, flyboy.” He is met with a knowing grin. “Please tell me you top.”

“Why, I do indeed.”

The next question is an easy one. _Just like me,_ Dopheld wisecracks at his own expense. “Want to get out of here?”

“Depends on where we’re going.”

“Somewhere you can get into my pants.”

“Works for me.” The pilot extends his hand and Dopheld, of course, takes it.

 

 

“What are you up for?” the pilot asks as Dopheld uses his code cylinder to gain access to a storage room.

“Oh, the usual. I’ll blow you and probably want you to shag me.”

“Pfassk,” the pilot hisses. “I’m on board.” He sneaks a pinch to Dopheld’s arse on their way inside.

Setting the lights at forty percent, Dopheld shuffles up to Pilot and tilts his head. “I enjoy kissing but I don’t require it.” Neither does he require a name: he’ll be thinking of the man as _Pilot_ from here on out. Hopefully he doesn’t shout it during orgasm. _(_ _“Oh kriff, fuck me, Pilot!”)_

“Oh, you’re getting kissed, alright,” Pilot answers with a confident smirk. He takes hold of Dopheld’s hips with both hands and pulls him in tight. Their lips meet. The pilot tastes like gin and confidence.

“Are you clean?” Dopheld whispers during a break for breath.

“Yeah. Um, here, I can show you.” He fumbles in his jacket pockets, likely searching for his personal comm unit.

“How recent?” Dopheld asks, peering at the screen once it’s tilted toward him.

“Last week. No fun since then, either. You?”

“Clean as of this morning.” He has twice-weekly tests now, wakes up early for them to keep his anxiety at bay. Armitage thinks he’s doing weight training, and doesn’t comment that Dopheld’s musculature never changes.

“Good. But I can still use a condom if you prefer, I’ve got one with me.”

Dopheld wrinkles his nose at the offer. “No, thanks.”

“Shit, wow, you serious?” Pilot runs his hand through his borderline non-regulation hair. “Okay. So are we doing all this in here?” he inquires, leaning in to lick into Dopheld’s ear. “Because my room’s about a twenty minute trip away—”

“What about—your—”

“My what, sweetheart?” the pilot drawls, continuing to distract him by sucking on his earlobe.

“Your fighter,” he whispers, but his syllables are obscured by his panting. Hot breath on his neck will do that to him. Especially from someone new. Someone who might fucking _deliver_.

“My?”

Mitaka finally gets it out in a rush. “Why don’t you fuck me in your fighter?”

The corner of his mouth turning up in smug satisfaction, he nods slowly. “It’s been a while. How flexible are you?”

“Quite flexible.”

“Then follow me.”

 

 

On the way to Flight Deck Cresh, Dopheld’s comm buzzes. He pulls it from the back pocket of his pants and Pilot takes the opportunity to slip his hand in the opening.

_Unamo: Are you being murdered yet?_

_Mitaka: I am not._

_Unamo: Why are you answering?_

_Mitaka: We_   _are in transit._

_Unamo: His place?_

_Mitaka: No._

_Unamo: Where?_

_Mitaka: MP can use my tracker if they need to find my body._

It may be a personal conversation, but Dopheld isn’t idiotic or drunk enough to type out an admission to conspire to misuse First Order materiel. Besides, they’ve arrived.

Pilot opens the hatch and, taking hold of Dopheld by the waist, easily lifts him into the cockpit first. Then he jumps in beside the lieutenant. Dopheld gently pushes him backward into the chair.

“I want to ride you in the pilot’s seat,” he explains, voice low.

“Ah, fuck,” the man agrees, wiping his brow on the back of his hand.

“Head first, though?” Dopheld suggests, pulling his shirt off and throwing it to the side.

“Head first, yes, please.”

Crouching on the grating, Dopheld unbuckles the pilot’s belt, unzips his fly, and reaches in. The man’s cock twitches in his warm palm. So far, the length is nothing to write home about, but it’s pretty thick. Dopheld opens wide and swallows it whole, listening to the pilot’s panted praise.

“Ah, fuck, babe. So good, so fucking good. Where did you learn to do that?” he asks, shaking his head in astonishment. “I can’t imagine it’s in the Officers’ Academy curriculum.”

“No, I took a special elective.”

“Maker, was it taught by a hooker? I’m sure you know you could charge for this.”

Dopheld pauses, trying to think how best to respond to this. Mention of prostitution tends to derail his enthusiasm.

“No, don’t stop. Babe, don’t you fucking stop now that I know how good it is.”

Brushing aside thoughts of sex for money, Dopheld massages the pilot’s sac with the tips of his fingers and hopes he won’t push him too far. He’d like to have a good amount of time to ride him in the chair.

As though the man had overheard his concerns, he pulls Dopheld off by the hair at the back of his head and leans down to kiss him messily. “C’mon and get up here, sweetheart.” Once Dopheld is straddling him, he gets a panicked look in his blue eyes. “Shit, shit, shit,” he hisses. “I’m a fucking moron. I forgot to bring lube.”

“What, you don’t keep some in the storage compartment?” Dopheld asks, pretending to be shocked.

“No, actually—”

Dopheld reaches into his front right pocket and presses a packet into the man’s hand. “No worries.”

Pilot rips it open and coats his spit-slick cock with proper lubricant. Dopheld hops off for a moment to remove his trousers and briefs. He takes a dab of lube for himself and slides two fingers into his hole. Now that he knows the pilot’s girth, he figures it’s best to do at least minimal prep if he plans on walking out of here instead of requiring a stretcher. “Sit on my lap, baby,” Pilot murmurs. “Sit right down on—my—fucking— _Maker._ ”

Dopheld wraps his legs around the back of the pilot’s chair as he sinks down. His own eyelids flutter and he hears himself letting out a high-pitched noise, somewhere between a wail and a keen.

“You good?”

“Yeah, fine,” the lieutenant gulps. “Just. You’re _thick_.”

The pilot smiles knowingly and rubs circles around Dopheld’s back. “Take your time. Get used to me. Breathe, relax. Then I’ll fuck you all the way to heaven.”

“Promise?” Dopheld asks, already breathless.

“Pinkie swear.” The pilot holds up a fist, little finger up. They hook pinkies and swear a pact to have fantastic sex very shortly. Dopheld grabs hold of the man by the lapels of his flying jacket and bounces, lightly at first, then quickly gaining in intensity. “Yeah, babe, that’s it. You know how to do it right.”

“Plenty of practice.”

“I like a man who knows how to take a dick. I’d chose you over a virgin any day of the week.”

Dopheld grins openly. “You’re in luck, hotshot, because I am the farthest thing from innocent.”

“Yeah? What are you, then?”

“I’m a slut with pretty low standards.”

“You’re not talking about me, are you?” Pilot asks, giving him a tragically hurt look.

“Of course not,” Dopheld assures him.

“Good,” Pilot says, instantly brightening up. “Then this can’t be the first time you’ve been fucked outside a bed.”

“No. Ah, let’s see.” With each bounce, he checks off another location on his list. “Shower stalls. Office desks. Couches. On a kitchen counter. Supply closets, of course. A weight bench. Hot tub once.”

“Toilet stalls?”

“Yes.”

Narrowing his eyes, the Pilot tilts his head. “Reminds me. Once I fucked a guy on an apartment balcony at a party. It was hot, thinking someone across the way could’ve seen us.”

Dopheld nods. _Yes, that does sound hot._ “I like the idea of being watched,” he admits.

“Me too.”

“Like right now. There could be a third-shift security technician, going over the camera feed for the grounded TIEs.”

Pilot groans. “Oh, hell.”

“He might notice movement in one of the cockpits.” At this point, Dopheld’s cock has grown too hot and heavy to ignore. He reaches down and starts tugging at it, a bit haphazardly. His focus is largely taken up by grinding down on the pilot’s lap and taking dirty. “And if he paid close enough attention, he’d see us fucking.”

“He could zoom in,” Pilot adds, contributing to the narrative. “He’d be able to watch you ride me. See what a cute ass you’ve got. You know what I think he’d do then?”

“What’s that?”

“Turn on the microphone remotely so he could hear us. Then put his hand in his pants and jack off to the free show we’re giving.” Lightly running his fingernails down Dopheld’s back, he whispers, “You’d make a great amateur holoporn star.”

“You think?”

“I know. So many guys—hell, girls too, probably—would tune in to watch you get fucked or play with yourself. Cuz you’re pretty, you know what you’re doing, and you sound so fucking hot when you’ve got a dick in you.”

“I only sound like this because of you, flyboy.”

“I like it when you call me that. Shout it for me, why don’t you?”

“Maker, fuck me harder, flyboy!” It sounds worlds better than Pilot, that much is for damn sure. After his breathy exclamation, they don’t speak in words for a while. They simply moan, kiss, and gasp.

“Fuck,” Pilot drawls after a while. “I’m getting pretty close, babe. Where do you want this?”

“In me,” Dopheld whines. “I want it deep in my arse.”

“You want me to breed your hot little hole?”

“Yes!” he practically screams.

“You gonna come, too? I want you to shoot on me while I fill you up. Get it on my jacket if you can.”

Nodding wildly, Dopheld speeds up his wrist, flicking his hand up and down his shaft.

“That’s it, baby. Come all over me with my dick stretching you out.”

Dopheld’s lower lip trembles and he bites down on it. “Can’t—wait—for you to—breed me,” he pants.

“I will. I’ve got such a big load for you, baby, it’s gonna drip out of you for hours.”

“Oh, _kriff!_ ” Dopheld yelps as his climax jolts up and down his spine. He looks at the pilot through heavy eyelids and says, “Now I want you to be rough.”

Pilot looks down at his jacket, confirms that Dopheld has left stripes of come across the lapels, then tilts his head, considering what was just said. “How so? You want me to fuck you against the console? Spank you? Call you names?”

“Yes, yes, and yes.” After his orgasm, he has reached a level of sensitivity where even low-key rough play will hit all the right receptors.

“Not too sore?”

“Not yet, flyboy.”

“Hm, let’s see what I can do.” Pilot shrugs off his soiled jacket and pulls his undershirt over his head. Fully naked, he slides his hands up Dopheld’s back and stands up from the chair, holding the lieutenant in the air. After one short step, he shoves Dopheld against the console. “Put your ankles on my shoulders, if you can. I want to get right in there.”

He can. He does. And then he groans, “Fuck, so deep.” He breathes air onto his forehead to blow off the hair that’s sticking to it with sweat.

“You’re such a hot little bitch,” the pilot growls into his ear, his voice rough. “We barely even talked, I didn’t have to buy you a goddamn drink, before you were ready to leave with me. So fucking easy. Do you let any halfway-attractive man who’s interested fuck you?”

He nods. “Pretty much. Long as he’s clean.”

“I bet you prefer not to use condoms. That’s why you care so much about screenings. Because you just _need_ a guy to come inside you.”

“I do, I do, I do,” Dopheld chants.

“How many men? Tell me how many men have been in this hole before me.”

“Sixty two,” he gasps, his head lolling against the fighter’s control panel. “I think.”

“Oh my fucking Maker, I’ve been with eighteen and thought I was doing pretty well.”

“You’re doing _me_ very well,” Dopheld assures him with a wide smile.

Smirking, the pilot wipes his forehead. “Getting close.”

“Yes, yes, come in me, flyboy.”

Pilot’s eyes widen and he stares at Dopheld. “Oh, Maker, you don’t know my name. I don’t know yours.”

“Nope.”

“I _love_ it,” he declares. “It’s so trashy.”

“Welcome to my life,” Dopheld answers with a grin. “Now come in my trashy arse.”

Pilot slams him against the console, mashes their lips together, then pants into his mouth. “Fuck, babe.”

“Flyboy,” Dopheld whispers, then watches the Pilot’s eyelashes flutter, listens to him shout, and feels him still.

They unstick their bodies and search for their discarded items of clothing. Holding up his jacket, the pilot shakes his head, smiling slyly. “You are unbelievable. And please say you’ll give me your comm info so we can meet up again.”

“Thanks.” Pulling his comm out of his discarded trousers, Dopheld says, “Tell me yours, then I’ll text you.”

Pilot rattles off his digits and letters while Dopheld types them in. He shoots over a quick message.

_—Hi, it’s the bitch you just fucked._

Grinning, Pilot announces, “I’m filing you under ‘Hot Piece of Trash’.”

Dopheld saves him under “Flyboy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes:  
> Anonymous sex - Joking between friends about murder - Clearances shared - Condom offered but declined - Semi-public encounter - Shared voyeurism fantasy - Teasing about sex work - Insult kink but only after it's requested - The term "breeding" is used but not in the mpreg sense - Shame and negative self-talk but what do you expect from Dopheld Mitaka anyway?


	4. Such a Disappointment

Originally, this was going to be the first of two full days off for him. But the scheduled lieutenant is indisposed, so Mitaka agreed to split the shift with another pinch-hitter. Which means that he will be off at 1200, and part of him is tempted by the thought of a nap. His arse is still a tad sore from the pilot the night before last, so he ought to take it easy.

But when he clocks in, he checks the full schedule and sees that Captain Peavey is on desk duty today. Dopheld is itching to be put in his place without mercy, so with fingers metaphorically crossed he sends the captain a private message at noon.

_D: How are you today, Captain?_

_EP: Bored as hell, Lieutenant. What about you?_

_D: I have the rest of the day free and am looking for something to pass the time, sir._

_EP: Come to my office and I’ll give you a job or two._

_D: Yes, sir!_

Adjusting his cap and pressing the buzzer by the door, he wonders what Armitage would say about this.  _(Peavey, really? And in his office? Dopheld.)_

He swallows down the imagined but all-too real sound of Hux’s disappointment when the door slides open. He steps in, catches the eyes of the seated captain, and drops his jacket to the floor to reveal that he is once again decked out as a cadet. The only violations are his officer’s cap and boots, which he needed to wear out of discretion. 

_(You dressed like a cadet for him? There is only one word for that and it is sick—)_

“Excellent, you came,” Peavey announces. “And you wore that.” He breathes in through his nostrils and rises from his chair. “Now, Cadet, I’d like you to come over here and explain yourself.”

As Dopheld steps over to the far side of the desk, Peavey pulls him in by the collar. His mental script for Armitage goes silent.

“What did you do this time, hmm? It’s only been two days since you were last sent here.”

“Didn’t you get a note, sir? Prefect Yallin caught me in the locker room before practise.”

“And what were you doing there, Mitaka? You’re not on any of our athletic teams.”

Smiling slyly, Dopheld answers, “No, sir, but the guy I was blowing is.” This is a familiar storyline for him to fall into: so many times, in both upper school and at the academy, he had secretly met with popular and supposedly straight boys who would thoroughly enjoy and then studiously ignore him.

“Kriff,” Peavey groans, turning him around swiftly. Groping the lieutenant’s—cadet’s—arse roughly, he growls, “Are you actively training to be a rent-boy? Because that’s how you’re behaving.”

“I think I’d be good at it.” A beat too late, he adds, “Sir.” This version of him isn’t as naturally subservient to authority; the cadet will need to have that lesson drilled into him, again and again.

“Show me,” Peavey orders. “Get down on your skinny little knees and demonstrate.”

A wave of warmth floods Dopheld’s gut. He hasn’t yet blown Peavey and is yearning to remedy that. Thus far the captain has always responded so expressively when he is impressed, and Dopheld is certain he can impress with his mouth. Once on the floor, he presses his lips against the seam of Peavey’s trousers and breathes out. Peavey makes a strangled noise at the sensation of heat trapped in the tent of his pants. Dopheld opens the man’s flies, pulls out his half-erect dick, and flicks the tip of his tongue over the slit.

Groaning, Peavey hoarsely orders, “Don’t just tease, now. Follow through.”

“Oh, I always do, sir,” he promises. He says nothing more, simply leans forward and keeps his throat relaxed as he steadily swallows Peavey’s cock.

“ _Mitaka_ ,” Peavey breathes. “You’re phenomenal.”

He can’t help but crack a smile even with his lips stretched wide. Peavey smells clean and warm but still undeniably masculine. He smells like self-assurance, like a man who is comfortable with himself and his world. Dopheld prays that if he spends enough time in the company of men like this, perhaps a bit of that confidence will spread to him.

The captain interrupts this chain of thought by placing a hand on his head. He doesn’t grab or pull, he simply rests it there. “You’re perfectly filthy,” he whispers, and Dopheld knows it’s a compliment.

“Thank you, sir,” he attempts to say, but the words come out understandably garbled.

“Sh, don’t speak with your mouth full. Just focus on the task at hand. I’m going to hold you down. Tap my hand twice if you need to breathe. Understood?”

A quick nod: Cadet Mitaka has just now learned not to try talking when his mouth is stuffed with cock. A short beat passes before the hand on his head tightens its grip, then pulls him in close. The other hand joins it. Dopheld feels as though he is being embraced, which he is, in a very dirty way. He relaxes the muscles of his neck and shoulders, making it easier for Peavey to move him up and down. Dopheld widens his mouth and breathes through the corners of it, making a wet burbling sound.

Pulling Dopheld’s head up, Peavey looks at his wet face and chuckles. “See? You’re good at this. I think we’ve found your calling in life.” Stepping back, he sinks into his chair and pats his lap. Dopheld straddles him. “I could help you out, you know. I could give you guidance. Find you some good, reliable clients. Keep the creeps away.”

Mouth opening and brow furrowing, Dopheld asks, “You’re offering to be my pimp, sir?”

“Procurer. But yes. If you’d be my whore.”

“Pfassk,  _sir_ ,” Dopheld whispers, entranced by the offer. “Yeah. Sure thing.” He’d do it, too: would take Peavey for his full-time dom, let the captain choose other men to fuck him, maybe eventually move into shared quarters. After such little time together, he already trusts Peavey more than he has trusted a new sexual partner in years. (Since Hux, to be exact.)

“Good. We can talk details later, but first I’m going to need to fuck you. I have to sample the goods I’ll be offering. So, stand up.” Dopheld leaves the man’s lap and faces the desk. The captain stands behind him, guiding his legs apart, trickling a drizzle of lube down his crack. “Oh, Mitaka,” he groans, tapping his thumb against the base of the plug in a quick rhythm. “You got ready for me.” He slips the plug out, and Dopheld gasps at the tug against his rim. “How considerate.” He fills Dopheld’s arse with his cock in one fluid motion and brings the wet plug to Mitaka’s lips. “Put this in your mouth and suck on it.”

Dopheld releases muffled moans from around the girth of the metal in his mouth. Peavey moves as though only interested in one thing: his own satisfaction. And that, in itself, is so satisfying.

“You filthy little  _slut_ ,” he whispers in the lieutenant’s ear. “That’s it, don’t move, Mitaka. Just—fucking—take it. Be a good boy for your captain and I’ll give you everything I have in my balls.”

Letting out a breathy moan, Dopheld remains in place, allowing Peavey to take what he requires. Fortunately, this is as much selfishness as it is subservience on his part. His cock, trapped against the edge of the desk and ignored, throbs uncomfortably. He leans down and spits the plug onto the counter. Hopefully Peavey won’t mind the disobedience; Dopheld needs to voice his pleasure—and he needs to be heard. “Oh, sir, you feel so good.”

“So do you, darling. My sweet little slut. I’ll make good money off you, renting you out. But you’ll come home to warm  _my_ bed, you’ll be  _mine._ ” Peavey grabs a fistful of Dopheld’s hair, pulling his head back as he slams forward. “I’ll be the only one to come inside this hot fucking arse.”

“Ah, please do, Captain,” Dopheld begs hoarsely, the words scraping his throat on their way out. “Please give it to me.”

Peavey grunts at each thrust, and Dopheld can tell he’s close. “Back up,” he orders and slips his hand between Dopheld and the desk, wrapping his fingers around the lieutenant’s neglected cock. “I want to feel you come for me.”

“Won’t take much, sir,” Dopheld promises.

“I’m going to put the plug back in once I’m done. Keep my load deep inside you. That way you won’t be able to forget whom you belong to.”

Dopheld makes a wild noise from the back of his throat, hoarse and needy, responding as much to Peavey’s plan as to the stroking of his cock. “Yes, yes, yes!” he pants, feeling sweat bead in the dip above his upper lip, beneath his palms braced on the desk, under his arms. His knees begin to wobble, so he locks them and raises his arse further.

“Say my name, Dopheld, and tell me who owns your pretty body.”

Mitaka sounds close to tears as he whines, “Captain Peavey, sir—”

“No, Dopheld, my given name. This office is sound-proofed, you can scream.”

“Edrison!” he shouts, and being permitted this small intimacy feels significant, powerful. “You own me—I belong to you—Please, please let me come!”

Peavey attacks Dopheld’s neck and jaw with kisses, sloppy and insistent as he continues to flick his wrist to wring pleasure from the young officer’s dick. “Yes, Dopheld, you’re so good for me, come for me, darling, come saying my name.”

“Oh, Maker, Edrison—” His entire body tenses and he lets out a wordless scream as he shoots his load across the desk, decorating the surface obscenely.

“Perfect, thank you, thank you  _so much!_ ” On the last two words, Peavey shoves deep, sending Dopheld collapsing forward, and grinds his hips in a circle. “Take it, darling, take it all.”

“Yes, sir,” Dopheld whispers, smiling foolishly, feeling like a happy liquid.

He stoppers Dopheld with the plug, just as he had threatened. “Don’t take that out for at least half an hour,” he instructs the lieutenant.

“No, sir. I’ll leave it in.”

“Good boy.” Peavey rubs Dopheld’s arse with both hands and gives him a slow, searching kiss.

Dopheld pulls his trousers up and while fastening the belt, notices a rectangular frame face-down on the desk. Assuming that it had fallen over during their session, he reaches over to tilt it upright. “Oh,” he says hollowly at the view of the obverse side.

It’s a two-dimensional still picture of five seated people arranged in a cluster. The only one he recognises is Edrison Peavey: the man whose name his voice is hoarse from screaming. It’s easy to guess the woman is his wife. A girl in her mid-teens is sandwiched between them, and each adult has a young boy on their lap.

Peavey makes a clucking noise with his tongue, a mechanical sound of regret. “Ah, I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

“I guessed as much.” He slowly turns toward the captain. “You have children.”

“Three, yes.”

Then, because this is the sort of question one asks—of acquaintances and coworkers, though, not  _lovers_ —he says, “What are their names?”

“Elisse is the eldest, she’s fifteen. The boys are Bevin and York, eight and four.”

“I don’t know why, but I presumed you were childless.” He knows why, though, it’s because he’d guessed Peavey was predominantly gay, that his marriage was for social and political reasons, that it wasn’t  _real._ But the children’s faces, their awkward haircuts and goofy smiles tell him otherwise. This family is Peavey’s main story; Dopheld is at most a sideline.

“I endeavour to keep these aspects of my life as separate as possible,” Peavey explains, carefully watching Mitaka’s face.

Dopheld nods; he knows how this works. It’s how it worked with his father and the women he saw behind everyone’s backs. You have your wife for the week and your girlfriend (or boyfriend, or just some submissive piece of arse) for the weekends. But Dopheld will never even be this man’s boyfriend, and it’s stupid that this upsets him because all they’re doing is having sex. Stupid because Dopheld already  _has_  a boyfriend. “Yes, I’m sure that’s for the best.”

“Does it upset you?”

He starts by shaking his head, but it morphs into a nod as he fastens the clasps of his tunic. He admits, “Yes. Which I know is hypocritical.” He remembers the fantasy they’d just shared, how his pulse had soared at the thought of this man being his primary partner, his dom, and belonging to Peavey in turn. It seems impossible now.

“Well, I admit there’s a difference in scale between cheating on a boyfriend and cheating on a spouse.”

“Especially when there’s a family on the line,” Dopheld adds.

“Do you want to talk about this?”

“No. I’m sure you have work to do.” Stiffly, he adds, “Thank you for taking the time to see me, Captain.” Dopheld finishes dressing, sees himself out, and heads home. As he walks to the nearest lift, the plug inside him feels especially heavy, obtrusive even. His breaths come short and fast as he fully appreciates the fact that he is carrying the ejaculate of a married man inside his body. A family man, and from all outward appearances, a happy one at that. Those children deserve to have a father who isn’t gallivanting around with some cheap bitch from work. And Dopheld should know better. Actually, he does know better; he simply doesn’t act better.

He has to get the plug out. Now. No, before now: minutes ago.

Once inside the threshold of his door, he rushes to the toilet. With a growing sense of panic, he pulls the plug out and pushes to expel the evidence with a disgusting noise. Flushing, he tosses the soiled implement in the sink and puts his head in his hands.

_Home-wrecker._

 

 

Furious at Peavey and disappointed in himself, Dopheld is too wound up to think properly, he’s going to make even worse decisions if he doesn’t calm down soon. So he ends up taking a nap after all, for three blissful hours. When he wakes, stretching lazily across the whole of the mattress, it is 1520 and his stomach is cramping from hunger. He’d skipped lunch after returning from Peavey’s office. He snacks on a protein bar and ruminates on the evening ahead of him.

Reaching out to Unamo, they agree to meet up for an early dinner.

“How did things with the Squadron Leader go?” she asks once they settle in at a table for two in the cafeteria.

“Well. Very well.” He crumbles a packet of crackers into his soup and stirs the pieces in, watching them swell and sink.

“Where did you end up going?”

He coughs into a fist to obscure his response. “TIE fighter.”

“The—what?” her voice lifts a full octave in surprise. “His  _fighter?_ ”

“Yes, we weren’t going to use someone else’s.”

She shakes her head slowly. “Sometimes I just cannot believe you. Where’d you find the space?”

“Ah, well, I am quite flexible,” Dopheld explains to his soup. “He sat in the chair and I… did my thing.”

“Wow. Okay, I admit I’m rather impressed. I’m also thrilled you didn’t get caught and reprimanded for lewd public conduct.”

“It wasn’t  _public_ ,” he argues. “There’s a door with a lock and everything.”

“And giant fucking windscreens for people to see into.”

He inclines his head, silently admitting her point. That would have been a hell of a way for Armitage to find out: returning home to a conduct complaint for casual sex in a star fighter.

 

 

After dinner, Mitaka smokes and paces the kitchen. Six steps across, six steps back. After three cigarras’ worth of this, he sighs deeply and signs onto his personal tablet. Accesses PRISM and resets the description in his profile.

_Young junior officer (male, slim, submissive) would like to determine just how many men he can blow in one night. My only requirements: be recently bathed and ready to share current test status demonstrating lack of STIs. No strings, kissing, or reciprocation needed or even desired. Just let me suck you off. Swallowing included._

The hits just start rolling in. After thirty minutes, he has fifty-three requests to sort through and pare down. Choosing the first is always the hardest as it sets the tone for the entire evening. But in the end he goes for a young man (twenty-two) who, according to a set of pictures he sent, is a bit longer than average but not overly thick. Dopheld doesn’t want to end up with a raw throat too early on.

He knocks on the door to the room provided, a supply closet in a deserted hallway. The door slides open and a hand waves him in hurriedly. “C’mon, get in!” a man whispers.

He takes one look at the sweet-looking man in front of him and gets directly to his knees. Fingers unclip a belt, unzip trousers, pull down fabric. He leans in and licks the stiffening cock from root to tip.  _Foreskin: fun!_  he thinks. He doesn’t have one, and neither do most of the men he has been with, so this departure from the standard fascinates him. Besides, it gives him an extra bit of dick to play with, to tongue around and under.

“Ahhh,” the man sighs, clenching his fingers into fists at his sides. Mitaka has seen this before: inexperience manifesting as an uncertainty of where to put one’s hands.

After taking him in all the way a few times—to demonstrate that he can—Mitaka looks up demurely, flutters his eyelids, and says, “You can hold my head down. I want to be used.”

“Fuck, you really mean that?”

He doesn’t last long once he reaches Dopheld’s throat. Having swallowed everything, Mitaka smooths down his uniform and stands, thanking the man for the opportunity to be of service. The other just appears happily stunned.

Dopheld exits the room first, still smacking his lips. After all, he hadn’t removed any clothing of his own. He checks his messages on his comm and finds even more notices. He selects his next stop more for proximity than anything else.

It’s a shared room housing two junior engineers. He was contacted by one, informed the other is out for a long evening. But when Dopheld is busy suckling the man’s sac and lightly brushing fingertips against his taint, the door opens.

“Ah, Maker, fuck!” comes the startled cry from the hallway. “Warn me, would yeh?”

“Shut the door, shut up, and wait your turn.” He grins down at Dopheld. “You wouldn’t mind a two-for, would you?”

He turns to look at the newcomer. “Not at all.”

“Cool. Jessip isn’t gay, but he’ll take head from anyone knows what they’re doing.” Tilting his head at his roommate, he asks for confirmation with a simple “Yeah?”

“Yeh’ve got that right. I’m not an eejit.” Jessip stands close by, squeezing the line of his erection in his pants as it fills out. “Bloody hell, look at that. Such a dirty boy. Where’d yeh find him?”

“Message boards. Wants to see how many loads he can swallow tonight.”

“Well, how many so far, boyo?”

Dopheld holds up a single finger.

“Two, real soon,” the current man promises. “Fuck, yeah!” He hugs Dopheld’s head to his lap while he spurts. “Maker.”

It’s a bitter victory, but Dopheld swallows it down. After all, he’d promised. Before he can turn, the roommate has pushed the first man aside. “Come on, baby, suck it up. That’s it, put me dick in yer mouth.” Dopheld opens his lips, lets his jaw go slack. Jessip feeds him his member, already sticky with precome. Immediately, Dopheld can tell this is a man accustomed to getting his way when it comes to sex. A fist grasps his hair, pulls his face forward and back, the man chanting, “Yeah, yeah, that’s it, baby. Get the cream out me bollocks.”

After, Dopheld uses their fresher to empty his bladder and make sure there are no obvious remnants of semen or drool on his face before he heads out again. In the hallway he pulls out his comm and strategises. Some instrumentation techs are having a party down in Engine Maintenance and he has received invitations from two of them. One reports the possession of a large dick, and beyond that, it makes sense to go where he might find more than a single man, to minimize travel time.

He buzzes the front door to the Maintenance Club and gets a quizzical look from the man opening it.

“Hey, is Korram here?” Dopheld asks.

The confusion disappears from the man and with a shrug he answers, “Somewhere. Probably by the bar.”

He heads in, feeling out of place in his off-duty clothes that still set him apart as an officer. But his credits are good here as they are anywhere on-board, and with a fresh bourbon in his hand, he turns to the group of four men behind him and asks, “Has any of you seen Korram?”

“Yup. By the dart board,” one of them says with a helpful point of a finger.

Dopheld slowly walks over and wonders how badly his aim has deteriorated since he last played at the Academy. The man currently throwing wears a studious smirk on his face and stands with an air of natural confidence. He hits a third bullseye in a row and turns to face the small crowd with a fist pumping in the air. “Hah!” he exclaims in casual triumph.

“Korram?” Dopheld asks.

“Yeah. Who—oh! Hey, Phel?”

“Yes,” he answers sheepishly.

“Hey, you came! Good, you already have a drink. Let’s talk.” He waves Dopheld over to a corner and clinks his glass against Mitaka’s. “How’s your evening going so far?”

“Pretty well.”

Glancing to his left and right to check for eves-dropping ears, he leans in with a bit of a leer. “Taken any loads yet?”

“Three.” Dopheld knocks back a swig, and now all he can taste is alcohol, clean and bright.

Korram’s face colours instantly. “Kriff, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Sure am.”

“And you’re still looking for more?”

“I haven’t tapped out yet.”

Running his fingers through his rakish blond hair, Korram grins. “You do shit like this often?”

The corner of Dopheld’s mouth twitches. He never knows how to answer this. It makes him wonder what sort of question it is. Perhaps it’s only a form of pleasantry— _You come here often? What do you do? Where you from?_ Or is the man trying to gauge how slutty he is?  _How pathetic are you? How damaged?_ “Every now and then,” he chooses to reply.

“Lucky me, then. Is the loo good?”

“Do the stalls lock?” Dopheld asks between sips.

“Yeah, I already checked.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Korram downs the rest of his drink in one go and sets it down on a nearby ledge. “C’mon, then.” With a tilt of his jaw he indicates the back left of the room. “Follow me.”

Dopheld trails him at a discreet distance, but it seems as though no one is concerned. A drinking game involving oversize tumblers is taking place near the corridor to the toilets, and the two of them skirt the crowd. Korram smiles and bumps fists with a few revelers. None of them pays much attention to Dopheld, and for that he is infinitely grateful. This isn’t his scene, not here.

Korram pushes through the door to the men’s toilet with an elbow, and Dopheld waits for it to swing back before he enters. The instant he’s inside, Korram grabs him by the wrist—they’re alone for now—and pulls him toward the farthest stall. Dopheld breathes a deep sigh of relief that the place is clean, albeit dimly lit. Korram ushers him in, locks the door behind him, and takes a good look at him.

“You’re cute,” he declares definitively.

“Thanks. You’re not bad yourself.”

Korram smiles easily at the compliment. “Thanks. So, three so far, huh?”

A nod.

The man steps in close and reaches for Dopheld’s collar. “You’re not full yet, though. You still want more?”

“I do.” Noticing Korram’s hesitance, he adds, “You don’t need to kiss me or anything.”

Korram does move his hand to run a fingertip over Dopheld’s lips. Dopheld catches it with his mouth, sucks on it. Hard. “Ah,” the man says. “Kriff.” He teases the lower lip with his middle finger, and Dopheld holds his hand gently by the wrist and takes both fingers deep into his mouth. Korram tickles his tongue before straightening his digits and aiming far back. Dopheld gives him a minute nod,  _Go ahead._ “Maker,” Korram whispers. “Do you have any gag reflex at all?”

He shakes his head around the fingers.

“Fuck, get on the floor. Go on, get on your knees.”

The floor is hard and cold and Dopheld knows that eventually his knees will start to hate him for what he puts them through. But for now he doesn’t mind. _This_ , after all, is his scene.

He looks up, watching as Korram undoes his belt and flies then pushes his trousers down to his ankles. Dopheld leans in, pulls the man’s briefs down and—

“Wow,” he whispers. By now he has become used to cocky men being either over- or under-endowed, and this one is of the former. “You weren’t kidding.”

“No, why would I want to disappoint you?” Korram answers smartly.

Dopheld holds his cheek against Korram’s crotch and peeks up at him. “It’s the size of my whole fucking face,” he marvels.

“I’m sure you can handle it.”

“Oh, as am I.” Dopheld takes hold of the base and tilts it straight out so he can easily flick the tip of his tongue against the head, paying particular attention to the slit until he coaxes out a full bead of precome.

“Fuck, Maker in Heaven, holy kriffing—”

Showing absolutely no mercy, Dopheld begins to swallow it whole, inching ever closer to the root.

“Baby, fuck, you dirty boy.”

He gulps once and sucks air in through his nostrils before continuing on his journey.

“Look at me, look up at me, show me those pretty fucking eyes.”

He looks up and bats his eyelashes, knowing they’re one of his better features.

“Yes, you’re gonna kill me with that sweet face and filthy mouth. How many—”

The door bangs open and Korram falls silent, pressing the back of one hand to his mouth. Dopheld keeps going. He hits bottom and begins to bob. Korram lets out a tiny whine. Urine splashes into a metal receptacle. A drain flushes. The sink runs, a soap dispenser is punched. Air blows washed hands dry. The door bangs closed.

“Baby, how many men can you take in a row?”

Dopheld raises his shoulders. He doesn’t yet know; that’s the point of this exercise.

“You could man a glory hole with this mouth. Faster, now. Yes, yes, yes—”

The door opens again but Korram is too far gone to shut up now.

“Fuck! Yes!” the man shouts as he shoots down Dopheld’s throat, far enough back that Mitaka can’t taste it.

Active silence from the room’s new occupant. Then a loud cough that sounds like a question. “Ahem?”

Dopheld snorts, trying to contain his giggles. Korram, dazed, grins and dissolves into his own giddy laughter.

“You two done in there?” a voice asks, sounding more amused than annoyed.

“He is. I may not be,” Dopheld calls out.

Korram exits the stall, leaving the door open, and strides to the sink. “He’s fucking phenomenal,” he shares as he washes his hands.

Dopheld comes to stand by the door and with one arm braced against the partition wall, smiles lazily at the newcomer. “I’ve swallowed four loads now and I’m sure I can take at least a few more. If you’re not interested, I’d appreciate it if you shared the invitation with a few friends.”

“Ah, hell, I’m not one to turn down a random, free blowjob.”

By the time Mitaka is seated on the closed toilet seat and sucking off this man, there’s a knock on the stall door. “Hey, uh, mind if I watch?”

The man with his dick out tilts his head at Dopheld. “What d’you think?”

“I don’t mind.”

Lock thrown back, door swung open, another face peering through. “Pfassk, he’s cute. Shit, is he an  _officer?_ ”

Dopheld nods but otherwise does not interrupt his work.

“Who cares what he is? He’s a top-notch cocksucker.”

The man at the door pulls something out of his top shirt pocket. Dopheld glances up and sees it’s a tiny bag filled with something white. The man flicks at it. “You like glitter?” he asks.

Dopheld pulls off the dick with a smack of his lips. “ _Do_  I.” It’s been years, he hasn’t had any since Arkanis, but is suddenly intent on changing that.

“How ’bout it, then? You blow me next and I’ll give you some blow.”

The man with the exposed dick shoves it back into Dopheld’s mouth and pulls his head in. “Dirty fuckin’ whore. Gonna feed you this load, you gonna take it? Yeah, I know you will. You love it, suckin’ cock and swallowin’ come.” After this, his words become garbled noise.

It hits the roof of Dopheld’s mouth and the back of his throat, causing him to cough. But he swallows through the spasm, nods to the man as he zips up, and waits for the two to swap places.

The new man, much younger than the last, kneels down in front of him. “Let me get my spoon out, that’ll make this easier.”

“How strong is it?” Dopheld asks, considering the length of time that has passed since he last indulged. “I don’t do this much.”

“It’s decent. Nothing special.” He takes a quick snort and hands the packet and spoon over to Dopheld. “I can’t get over how cute you are. Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“I do.” Dopheld breathes in, lets it out to the side, and holds the spoon steady while he snorts about half the bump.  _Kriff, it_ _’s been too long._ His heartbeat thuds in his ears, his entire body warms up, and he grins despite the topic of conversation.

“Oh. Then why are you here?”

“Because he ignores me,” Dopheld answers breezily. “He’s not that interested in sex.”

“Pfassk, what the hell is wrong with him? I’m not gay, but look at you. You’re young and pretty, you’re a karking officer, and—” He shakes his head. “I don’t get it.”

“Anyway,” Dopheld says firmly. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Oh, sorry, sure.” He waits for Dopheld to finish.

Handing back the paraphernalia, Dopheld reaches for the technician’s fly. He gets him ready with his hands, jerking with one and massaging balls with the other.

“Oooh, you’re an expert, all right. I’ll just—just let you do your thing. So good. Best head of my life, and I’m getting it in a toilet at a party, from a guy I’ve never met. Fuck, I’d like to try more than this,” he admits.

“Like what?”

“Like fucking you. Not tonight, no, I know you have this goal. But maybe—”

“Do you use PRISM? Yeah, then I’ll give you my contact info. We can meet up sometime later.”

Pleased with his answer, the technician fills Dopheld’s mouth and doesn’t give him further opportunity to speak.

 

 

By the time he opens his door at 0445, Dopheld has swallowed the ejaculate of eleven men and is too wiped out to feel any shame about it. He knows that will come in the morning. For now, though, his mind is peacefully blank. He stretches on the floor beside his bed, knowing that his calves, knees, and thighs will thank him for the attention.

At 0530 the alarm he had forgotten to switch off wakes him and he turns over to kill it. His throat is more than sore and his eyes feel like he slept in a sand pit. Still, he takes a moment to check his messages and instantly frowns.

_You have missed a call from Armitage Hux (2313)._

_AH (2315): Was hoping to say goodnight, but I’m guessing you’ve already gone to bed. Sleep well. Love you._

_DM (0532): I hadn’t been sleeping well so I made it an early night. Finally properly rested. Good luck on SKB today. Talk tonight? Love back._

With a miserable groan, he flops onto his back, shuts his burning eyes, and falls back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes: Office sex - Teacher/student roleplay - Costume/Uniform kink - Shared prostitution fantasy - Butt plug - Ass-to-mouth - Dopheld is confronted with some of the messy realities of cheating - Frank discussion of said realities - Slutty goals - Anonymous semi-public blowjobs - Lots of them - Illicit stimulant use


	5. Left Hanging

Dopheld awakes with grit in his eyes and an erection in his pyjama pants. He brushes the first away, ignores the second, and notices that Armitage had responded to his last message.

_AH (0540): You’re up early on your day off._

Yes, good point. Sitting up, he lifts a hand to his temple with a groan at the pain from the position change. Determined not to respond to Armitage until he has a good answer, he checks the balance on his hot water ration. Figuring he can excuse an eight-minute shower, he stands, stretches briefly, and heads to the refresher.

His throat is scratchy. He shouldn’t be surprised, given its level of overuse.

If pressed, he’d admit he is proud of his tally. Before yesterday, he would have cautiously estimated that he could swallow six or seven men’s worth. Not eleven.

Of course, the glitter had helped.

“Oh,” he says aloud, realising the full provenance of his hangover. He’ll have to skip his STI test today since he isn’t willing to hand over a sample that likely contains traces of an illicit substance. No, he won’t be voluntarily providing ammunition against himself for a personnel complaint.

After the shower, as he towels himself off, it occurs to Dopheld how to respond to Armitage.

_DM (0720): It was my morning for weight training. But I’ll likely nap later. How are things on SKB?_

There: disaster averted, for the time being.

Were he to be interrogated, he couldn’t explain just why he is so adamant about postponing Armitage’s discovery, but one thing he is certain of is that it should occur face-to-face. Dopheld deserves to see the disappointment and anger in Armitage’s expression, to hear it in his voice. Besides, he can’t risk derailing the general’s crucial work with a personal crisis.

But Dopheld may have gotten all the mileage he can out of the “keep Hux happy because he’s important” card. The longer this goes, the more explosive the fallout is likely to be.

_AH: Overcoming a thousand tiny hurdles, one by one._

_DM: That’s good. Annoying, I’m sure, but good._

_DM: When are you coming home?_

_AH: Actually, that’s what I wanted to tell you last night. I’ll be back for at least a few cycles._

_DM: Finally! When?_

_AH: Planning on docking with_ Finalizer _in approx. 28 hours._

_DM: Should I reserve a dining room at Deck Seven for tomorrow evening, then?_

_AH: Please do. I could use a decent meal seated across from you._

_DM: I will. Looking forward to seeing you finally._

Armitage echoes the sentiment and signs off to run an inspection. Dopheld sinks further into the couch cushions and lazily flips through notes on his comm. Looking back through his messages, he notices one from Armitage that he had overlooked. It was sent the first morning of his current trip.

> _D—_
> 
> _All is well here, progressing more or less according to schedule. Hope you are taking care of yourself. Make sure to eat enough protein; you never do._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _AH_

He archives the missive with a silent scoff. Protein intake: _Gee, thanks, what a romantic sentiment._

He can’t stomach the thought of protein at the moment. Or perhaps that’s only a function of not having brushed his teeth when he got back. Eleven loads swallowed. His mouth tastes sour, like cream gone a bit off.

_(plenty of protein in that)_

After brushing his teeth and gargling with mouthwash, he finds he still isn’t interested in eating. Instead, he smokes two cigarras back to back and mulls over whether to return to bed. His jaw aches dully.

By 1600, he decides to get some proper dick before calling it a night.

Although he is honestly looking forward to spending time with his boyfriend again, he also feels a surge of low-level anxiety at the prospect. Whenever Hux is away for a protracted amount of time, Dopheld wonders if he’ll sense something on his return. Anything from an overabundance of enthusiasm to an emotional reticence, a difference in the way he kisses or moves, or a new turn of phrase, could potentially trigger additional suspicion.

Because if Armitage actually asked him about it point-blank, Dopheld doesn’t know how he would answer.

_(Are you seeing someone else?)_

_(Have you been unfaithful?)_

_(Who else is fucking you?)_

_Yes, yes, and everyone._

It might take the edge off if he found someone in the meantime, if he doesn’t spend the next twenty-eight hours overthinking. But Peavey is out. Is he?

As if on cue, his comm beeps.

_EP (1811): We should probably talk._

Dopheld ignores it for the time being. He doesn’t want to talk now and he hadn’t started seeing Peavey for conversation to begin with. But what he does want is mutually exclusive with the captain’s other life—his _real_ life, the part that does not and cannot contain Dopheld Mitaka.

_EP (1945): Please allow me to attempt to explain and apologise. It’s the least I can do._

_EP (1956): Are you free tonight?_

Finally, Dopheld relents and decides to answer. But he isn’t sure what to say. The thought occurs to him that he could start with the truth.

_D: Yes. I am._

_EP: Can I see you?_

_D: See me, or talk to me?_

_EP: Either._

_D: Fine. Let’s the two of us be honest from now on._

_EP: Let’s._

_D: When and where?_

_EP: My quarters, 2100?_

_D: I’ll be there._

He wears his training clothes, because as much as the trashy portion of his brain wants to jump right back into his cadet uniform, a more sensible side has overridden that drive. (For now. He may cave yet.)

When he shows up, pressing the buzzer by Peavey’s door, Dopheld’s stomach is a jumble of acid and nerves. He hadn’t been able to eat a proper meal, had chewed and swallowed half a nutrient bar around dinner time and was barely able to force that much down before throwing the remainder in the rubbish. He feels in energetic stasis, like a nocked arrow about to be released. He doesn’t know where he’s headed, just that the journey will be fast and violent.

Peavey answers the door in civilian clothes, and he looks—

Fuck, he looks like the man in the photo. A husband, a father.

_(a cheater)_

“Thank you for coming,” he says, welcoming Dopheld in with an easy wave of his hand. Like the lieutenant is just an acquaintance from work, like he hasn’t been here before, like he hasn’t been _tied up and fucked bare_ on the bed just off this room.

Dopheld can’t trust his voice, so he only nods and steps inside.

“Can I get you anything?” Peavey asks, keeping a close eye on Dopheld’s face.

“A drink,” Mitaka manages. “Can I have a drink?” If he won’t be having sex with Edrison Peavey again, he could use some alcohol to smooth this interaction.

“Of course.” Peavey strides to the sideboard. “Vodka, gin, single malt, or bourbon?”

“Bourbon, please.”

The captain splashes a generous helping into a highball glass and walks it over. He heads to the couch and takes a seat, reaching for his own drink—red wine, glass half-finished. “Please join me,” he says, and it isn’t an order, it’s really just a cordial request.

Dopheld kicks off his low-rise off-duty boots and perches on the absolute other end of the couch. It’s a bit petty how far away he chooses to situate himself. But Peavey could still reach his hand over, rest it on Dopheld’s thigh, and—what, then? How would Dopheld respond? _(You_ _’d give in instantly, you weak piece of shit.)_

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” the captain prompts.

He takes a gulp from his glass and kriff, does he need it. With his throat burning and stomach warming, his hands finally steady. “I’m not exactly sure why it hit me so hard, finding that out yesterday. But it did.” Maybe it was actually seeing their faces, the people who should have exclusive claim on Edrison Peavey’s off-duty time and attention.

Peavey nods. “This is when I ought to apologise for being an arsehole. Because I am.”

_(But so am I.)_

“Are we doing this full honesty thing?” the captain inquires softly.

“At least trying, yes.”

“Then I’ll tell you that the thing I _actually_ regret is not putting the picture in my desk drawer where you wouldn’t come across it. I’m neither going to pretend that I wish I weren’t married nor that I hadn’t started seeing you. I want them both, contradictory though they are.” Sighing into the middle distance, he sips from his wine and states, “Perhaps I should give you some background. Not as an excuse, simply as… call it context. Lada and I are from Coyerti. Our families worked in the research stations there and our fathers were close friends. We went on a few dates before I left for Carida, but it was nothing serious. Not yet. I knew by then that I wasn’t straight. But neither was I entirely gay.” He keeps his gaze studiously pinned to the far wall. “Back at the Academy, I dated both men and women. Mostly men, though—and with them, I found I was comfortable exploring… a more assertive side of my personality. I had a boyfriend for two years who was both submissive and masochistic, and he taught me a great deal about myself. But none of that fit in with my plans. My capital-p Plans.” He wipes his forehead on the back of his hand although Dopheld can’t see any sign of perspiration. “Lada and I were married right after I made lieutenant—which took a while, the Empire was collapsing—when I was twenty-eight and she was twenty-six. That was following the Plan. Don’t get me wrong, I do love her. She is a truly good person, and a fantastic mother.”

“Do you—” Dopheld sets down his glass and grips his thighs just above the knees, squeezing the flesh tight while he phrases a potentially invasive question. “Do you and she have sex like—Is it satisfying?”

“Yes. It isn’t as thrilling as it is with someone like you, but I do enjoy it. Besides, there’s an intimacy in being utterly comfortable with another person.”

“But not so comfortable that you can be fully honest with her,” Dopheld points out, speaking morosely down into his glass, hearing his voice echo around his ears.

Peavey gives him a sharp look that quickly softens. “No. Because I won’t break her heart, or upset the stability we have built for the sake of our children.”

On a certain level, Dopheld sympathises. He is clearly in a similar predicament. But _still_. “Do you think she doesn’t suspect? Or that your children, especially as they grow older, won’t notice a… a certain distance between you two?”

Peavey sighs again, lost in thought. “There is nothing of value to be gained by risking my marriage.”

“How about an honest life?”

“Honesty is overvalued in our personal interactions. The lies we tell, the lies we _live_ , both big and small, keep society functioning.” His gaze finally lands on Dopheld’s face and the look he gives him seems to say, _You_ _’ll agree with me when you’re older._ Dopheld feels a bitterness rise in him at being patronised. “The wellbeing of my children is far more important than achieving some vague sense of self-fulfillment, and certainly more than my own fleeting sexual gratification. There is something worse than cheating, Dopheld, and that is cheating and then abandoning one’s fundamental obligations.”

He gets it. He wasn’t expecting Peavey to divorce his wife, ditch his kids, and run off with him. But with so much at risk, that leaves a huge question unanswered. “Then why—why _do_ it? Why see me at all?” The trembling has returned, this time making an unwelcome appearance in his voice.

A shy smile appears on Peavey’s face. “Ah. Because I am weak and selfish. I have opportunities to satisfy myself outside of my marriage without undue risk, and thus… here we are, you and I.”

“You’re right,” Dopheld proclaims, seeing Peavey straighten up in his seat. “You are an arsehole.”

“I did inform you,” Peavey points out, “before we met for the purpose of sex, that I was married and we would have to be discreet.”

“You have _children!_ ” Dopheld protests, his voice rising in pitch and intensity. “And they may not know, for certain, but believe me, they will  come to suspect, and that suspicion will fucking _hurt_.”

“Did your—are you speaking from experience?”

“Yes,” Dopheld admits miserably. “My father would often ‘stay late’ at work. He missed dinners and birthdays, saying it was for some case but—but it was all for one of the women at his firm. Growing up, I swore to myself that I would never do that, I’d never cause a child to wonder what was so important that it kept his father away.”

“You’re not keeping me from anything, though. They’re not _here_. You aren’t stealing my time from them.”

“I’m stealing something, though. Attention or energy—maybe affection, I don’t know.” He sighs and straightens his back, steeling himself. “Anyway. Earlier today I said ‘let’s be honest’ and I suppose that includes me.”

“What do you have to add, retract, or clarify?”

Dopheld blinks smoke out of his eyes. “A great deal, in fact.”

Peavey waits.

“About Hux. He—I don’t have his permission for any of this. If I’m lucky, I’ll have his forgiveness once he finds out.”

“Ah. That explains why you called yourself a hypocrite when you were in my office.” He nods a few times in a row, giving the impression of thinking things through. “Where does he think you are?”

“Right now, he’s on Base, so I needn’t come up with excuses. When he’s home, it’s usually training or drinks with friends.” Inhaling and exhaling three expanding rings of smoke, he adds, “That’s what I say. Whether or not he believes me is another matter.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Years,” Dopheld says, and his weariness weighs the word down. “I never imagined it would last this long. I kept expecting him to corner me and ask, and then I’d come clean, and he’d shout and kick me out of his life.”

“But that hasn’t happened. He’s never confronted you?”

Shaking his head, Dopheld answers, “Not once.”

“Why do you think not?”

“At first, I figured he didn’t pick up on the signs. But as I slowly dropped pretenses and he didn’t mention it, I guessed he was just trying to keep the peace. But now… it doesn’t seem like he cares. He is happy enough to have me around when he’s on board, but probably hasn’t fully loved me in a long while. Now he may just see me as a roommate who blows him regularly.”

“You still have sex?”

“Not often. I suck him off most nights when he’s home, though. It’s the least I can do.”

“Dopheld, this—it isn’t good. Not for him, and certainly not for you.”

He turns sideways on the couch to face Peavey fully, about to comment on the captain’s own situation and inquire how good _that_ is. But instead he sighs and asks, “Why can’t we just stay in and wank off to porn? Why are we doing this to ourselves?”

Coming to the understanding that this is no longer only about him, Peavey shakes his head. “I don’t know. We’re human, and we’re weak, and we repeatedly make poor decisions. We do it because it feels… well, it feels _so bloody good_.”

“Maker, it does, though.” Dopheld wipes his eyes and creeps closer to Peavey’s side of the couch. “As stupid as it is, I don’t want to stop.”

“Nor do I, Dopheld.” Draping an arm across the lieutenant’s shoulders, he pulls him in, rests his chin on top of Dopheld’s head. “Kriff, I fucking _crave_ you.” He nuzzles Mitaka’s hair and inhales. “The more I see you, the more I want you. You smell so good.”

Dopheld’s reticence doesn’t fade so much as _melt_. “Do something dirty to me, sir. One more time.”

Peavey cups Dopheld’s chin in one hand, tilts it up to his face. “Let me take care of you, at least for tonight.”

 

 

Peavey criss-crosses the rope over Dopheld’s chest, secures his arms behind his back with his inner wrists pressed together so that his hands are splayed uselessly just above the swell of his arse. Loops around his thighs, calves, ankles: all of them connected to the knot that will hold the hook dangling from the pulley system. Peavey is going to lift him into the air and have him there.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, sir,” Dopheld assures him. He feels a nervous squirming from his stomach, a fluttering in his chest, but no discomfort. He has never been suspended before; this is something new.

Peavey walks a perimeter around him, humming to himself as he checks the knots. “Looks good. I’ll be hooking you up now.”

Dopheld shuts his eyes and is lifted into the air. When he opens his eyes, he is less than a metre above the floor. His body haws to the left about twenty degrees, and Peavey adjusts him.

“How is the balance now?” the captain asks.

“It feels even, sir.”

“Excellent. Onwards and upwards, then.” He pulls down on the rope, sending Dopheld slowly spinning as he rises into the air.

“Oh,” Dopheld whispers to himself when he stops turning, reaching an equilibrium.

“Yes? How do you feel?”

“I’m not sure how to describe it, sir,” Dopheld answers, his voice sounding very young in his ears. “But it’s pleasant.”

“Very good.” Peavey takes hold of him by the top of his head, tilting him down. With his other hand, he releases his cock from his trousers. “Suck me off, darling.”

His entire body tips forward and back as Peavey directs his movements. It makes cock-sucking an engagingly full-body endeavor. His head grows light with the repeated change in elevation. When Peavey gives him a break, he once again closes his eyes and lets his mind drift. He hears the pop of a bottle cap somewhere in the distance. A gloved hand parting his thighs. Wetness on his arsehole. He sucks in air.

“Do you want me to fuck you like this?” Peavey asks, tone steady.

“I do, sir.”

“Hanging in the air, at my mercy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it for me, Dopheld.”

There’s a giddiness rising in him from the way Peavey demands explicit consent before launching into something adventurous. _He cares, he wants to make this good for me, it wouldn_ _’t be good for him if I didn’t want it._ “I want you fuck me while I’m hanging from the ceiling like a lighting fixture, sir!”

Laughing gently at Dopheld’s enthusiasm and wording, the captain declares, “You’re my favourite fixture _ever_.” He works his index finger inside. Dopheld wriggles in his ropes, trying to move the digit in deeper. Peavey slaps his ass, admonishing him, “Stay still—you’re making this difficult.”

“I’m sorry, sir. But I’m ready for more.”

“Is that so? Do you think you could take me now?”

“Yes, sir, please go on and fuck me already.”

“Thirsty little bitch,” Peavey says fondly. “Very well.” He slicks himself up and lowers Dopheld by a few inches, bringing him level with his pelvis. Gripping the lieutenant by his hips, he presses in. “Always so welcoming.”

“I’m always ready for you, Captain.”

With minimal friction from the air, Peavey is able to pull Dopheld back and forth more quickly than usual. “Oh, Maker, it’s like wanking with your arse,” he comments. “You’re my pretty little sex-toy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Please jerk off into me, sir.” Then Dopheld has to bring it up because the words are in his mouth and he can’t swallow them back down. “I’m sorry I was angry with you earlier,” he blurts out.

“I forgive you, as you had every reason to be pissed. Like I said, I’m a bastard.”

“I’m a bastard, too, sir.”

“Are you? Are you a slutty bitch?”

Smiling as Peavey turns Dopheld’s self-recrimination into dirty talk, he answers, “Yes, Captain, I’m a filthy fucking _whore!_ ”

“You’re certainly acting like it. Letting me treat you like this. I’m going to make you even filthier, I’m going to pound your arse open. Kriff, you’ll be gaping when I’m done with you, your hole is going to be twitching and just—wrecked, swollen, and dripping from me.”

“Sir, please. Make me sloppy with your come.”

“I haven’t gotten off in two days, Dopheld. Not since I saw you in my office. My balls are _full_ of cream for you.”

Dopheld whines in anticipation.

“But you, darling, I’m not going to bring you off until I’m done. I want all your focus where it belongs: on me.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll wait for you, just tell me when— _oh, oh, fuck!_ ” He’s reveling in how fast Peavey can drill him like this.

The captain continues to taunt him, though. “What are your thoughts on fucking machines? Because I’d like to hook you up to one and see just how long you could take it.”

“Please. Please, sir, anything you want, I’m yours.”

“You are, aren’t you?”

Dopheld wails, “Yes! Sir!” as Peavey hammers home. “Help, sir, I’m too close—”

Peavey reaches over and squeezes the tip of Dopheld’s dick until the danger has passed.

“Thank you, sir,” he whimpers.

“No, thank you for warning me. I want you to be overwhelmed, not miserable.” Gripping the lowest portion of the rope on Dopheld’s back, he adds, “But I’m nearly there, myself. Do you want this?”

“Maker, yes, sir!”

“Then you know what to call me.”

“Edrison, please! Please fill me up with everything you have!”

“Yesss,” Peavey hisses, pulling him in one last time and holding him there, pressed in close against him. “Fuck, Dopheld. You’re twitching around me.”

“It’s so good, sir… So fucking good.” It’s good enough that he’s almost weeping. All the stress he’d felt over the picture of Peavey’s family has evaporated and that pressure replaced with warmth. Of course, he hasn’t come yet, but that barely matters because he has done well, Edrison still wants him, Edrison appreciates and values him…

Peavey holds him there until he softens and withdraws slowly. Reaching to the desk behind him, he picks up a small plug and inserts it, explaining, “I want you to come with my load in you.”

Dopheld simply nods. Peavey brings him down, supports him with a palm splayed across the small of his back. Unhooking him from the rigging, Peavey removes the ropes, loop by loop, and rubs Dopheld’s limbs down.

“But tell me, how do you want to come?”

Speech is taxing in his current, dazed state. “What are my options, sir?”

“Hm, well. I could wank you, you could wank yourself while I finger you, or I could blow you—with or without the additional use of my fingers.”

“You—you’d do that for me, Captain?” Dopheld asks, stunned by the very thought.

“Of course. You’ve been exemplary tonight. I want to give you something special in return.”

“Maker, sir, please. That. I want that.” He couldn’t specify the last time someone other than Armitage blew him; he doesn’t expect or even hope for that level of intimacy from his side-partners.

“Then come lie down on the bed.” Smiling as he surveys Dopheld’s body spread out on the sheets, Peavey states, “Now, there are rules to this. No thrusting into my mouth. Unlike you, some people have gag reflexes. So don’t try to fuck my throat. Don’t hold my head or tug my hair. You can put your hands on my shoulders if you’d like, though. And please tell me what works for you. Be vocal, darling, I want to hear you enjoying this.”

Vocalisation has never been difficult for Dopheld. Expressing his basest needs, his filthier interests, and his pleasure has always come easily for him. Maker knows how it must have driven Armitage mad early on, all the times he’d begged for things he couldn’t have. _(Use me. Wreck me. I don_ _’t care if it hurts, Armitage, just please—Make me yours.)_

Now, of course, he’s saying these things to Edrison Peavey, and the captain actually wants to hear them. He sighs happily while Peavey’s tongue laves circles around the head of his cock. “Oh, Maker, sir—please, please suck me off.”

With a quiet laugh, the captain secures his lips around the crown and slowly takes more into his mouth. Dopheld blinks at the ceiling and pants. The rules Peavey outlined don’t at all hinder his enjoyment, as he has no inclination to be rough or even hurry things along. It’s more than enough to lie here and let this happen. Especially when Peavey starts bobbing his head in a quick rhythm.

Suddenly Peavey relents and, licking his lips, looks up at Dopheld. “What would you say if I told you I’d like to I suck my load out of you?”

“Fuck,” Dopheld groans, and turns over.

“Was that a yes, Dopheld?” the captain asks teasingly.

“Yes!” he shouts into the pillow, punching the mattress with a desperate fist. It hits him that he didn’t use a title or honourific, and he’s about to add one in panic, but the other man is already in motion, pulling his cheeks apart and removing the plug. He slides two fingers in easily.

“Listen to this mess,” he marvels, pumping his hand back and forth, all the while grinning openly at the obscene squelching of his fingers moving through ejaculate and lube. “I warned you I had plenty saved up.”

Dopheld nearly chokes on his enthusiasm, bucking against the hand around him as he shouts, “Please, fuck, sir—”

“Tell me what you need.”

“Your mouth, I need your mouth on me and your hand around me, please, sir, _please_.”

Laughing good-naturedly, Peavey slowly removes his fingers and brings his hand around to stroke Dopheld’s straining erection. He seals his lips against Dopheld’s hole and gently begins to apply waves of suction.

Dopheld’s hands fist in the corners of the pillow. “Maker, holy _fuck!_ ” As the older man slides the tip of his tongue inside, Dopheld squints his eyes and sees stars behind the lids. He makes an unholy noise, somewhere between a yowl and a shriek. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants. “So close, I’m getting so close, sir!” His tone turning to a whimper, he adds, “May I, Captain? May I come?”

Peavey increases the speed of his hand. Dopheld’s knees tremble. But the captain pulls back with a smack of his lips and says, “Not yet, I need to get it all out. Then you can finish in my mouth.”

Bringing a fist up to his face, Dopheld bites down on his knuckles, leaving indents in the pattern of his teeth. “I’ll be good, sir,” he swears. “I can last, it’s just… _torture._ ” He breathes this last word out as though the aforementioned torture isn’t actually all that problematic.

Captain Peavey returns his attention to the lieutenant with renewed vigour, sucking and slurping. Dopheld keens through his gritted teeth but he learned to edge himself at the age of fourteen, he knows how to drag things out. So he can wait, he can hold out, he can defer it just a bit longer. How much longer, he isn’t sure. But then Peavey is backing away, flipping Dopheld over once again, and sinking Dopheld’s dick past his lips. Just as he hits bottom, the captain slams two fingers back inside him and that’s it, there’s no possible prolongation of this—

He kicks one of his legs out to the side, his back arches off the mattress, and with the full force of his lungs, he shouts, “Edrison! Yes!”

 

 

Dopheld lies on the captain’s bed, spent and content. Peavey brings him a warm washcloth and cleans him off before settling in beside him. Dopheld could stay here for hours, barely moving, eventually falling asleep. Perhaps they’d wake sometime in the middle of the night for a quick go in the dark.

Combing his fingers through Mitaka’s hair as the lieutenant smokes and musters the will to move, Peavey murmurs, “In the interest of honesty, I can’t see this ending well for you.”

“No,” Dopheld agrees, his lips pressed together tightly. “As lovely as tonight ended up being, perhaps we should take a break. Besides, Armitage is coming back for a few days.”

Peavey nods. “If you feel that would be best for you. Just know that I’ll miss you, and if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes: Hangover- Mentioned consumption of illicit substances - Frank discussion of infidelity - Rope bondage - Suspension - Anal plug - Blowjob - Felching


	6. Welcome Back

Hux’s shuttle docks with the _Finalizer_ at 0615 and Mitaka is there at the head of the contingent to meet him. He groomed himself with particular care this morning, shaving his face and combing his hair to expected perfection. Because even after all this time, appearances still matter.

He imagines himself as mostly scaffolding, a structure put in place to keep a derelict and uninhabited building from collapsing.

Hux strides down the ramp, flanked by a trooper and a junior officer, and his eyes lock onto Dopheld’s.

Mitaka instantly smiles. His chest fills with warmth. This is real. This is meaningful. Hux gives him a tiny, private smile of his own before snapping back to proper form and approaching Captain Peavey to officially resume command of the ship.

 _How did you ever land someone so important?_ the lieutenant asks himself. This silent question is followed immediately by, _And why does he believe you to be worthy?_

The ache returns to his chest like a physical blow. _You_ _’re an amoral bastard. You’re cheap. You’re disloyal._

Dopheld could put together an entire Aurebesh of his own failings.

 

 

“How long are you back for this time?” Dopheld asks during a quick visit to the general’s office, wishing for the answer to be both several weeks and only a handful of hours. These days, Dopheld finds himself pulled in more than one direction most of the time, and he wonders where his seams are, which ones will come apart first.

He isn’t sure how long he can keep it together, this pretense that his personal life has become.

“At least three day cycles,” Armitage promises, placing a hand around the lieutenant’s waist.

Dopheld decides he can work with that. He can go three full days without seeing anyone else. “Good,” he answers confidently. “I reserved a table for eight o’clock.”

Hux tilts his head to the side and a smile appears on his face, broader and longer-lasting than the one Dopheld had been granted in the hangar bay.

Dopheld realises he’d slipped into non-military time. He reaches for Armitage’s hand, grabs it and clasps it to his chest. “I’m glad to have you back. I don’t sleep half so well when you’re gone.” This has the benefit of being true. Not everything he says to his boyfriend is a lie. (Only the important statements are false.)

Armitage steps in and kisses him on the top of his head and suddenly Dopheld wants to blurt out his confession, then his abject apologies. To get to the floor and grovel for this great man who is somehow not enough for him.

He doesn’t, though. He accepts the unmerited kiss in silence.

 

 

Dinner goes as smoothly as Dopheld could have hoped. The two of them fall into an easy rhythm, speaking of work and the war between bites of food. Dopheld also eats better when Armitage is around—otherwise, he tends to skip meals out of inertia or overwork. The message about protein wasn’t off the mark so much as annoyingly true.

Once this is over, who will make sure he takes care of himself? Or will the yawning chasm inside him simply open wide and swallow him whole?

(Perhaps that would be for the best. It _would_ be simpler.)

Dopheld looks across the table and grimaces internally, thinking how little he deserves this nice dinner, this pleasant companionship. He feels like he’s stealing intimacy from Armitage, wasting the man’s time when he could already be recovering from their failed relationship and moving on with someone else. Dopheld is just dragging things out because he doesn’t have the stones to—

“Sorry, what?” Dopheld asks. Armitage is giving him an inquisitive, slightly concerned look that indicates he has asked a question and is now waiting for an answer.

“What did you get up to last night?”

“Oh. Not much. I was a lazy bastard and spent most of the time on the couch.” _On Edrison Peavey_ _’s couch, that is, comparing notes on cheating. Then we adjourned to the bedroom, as neither of us has a shred of self-control._

“I wish I’d been here. That sounds far more pleasant than the gigabytes of raw data I poured over.”

Without intending to, Dopheld imagines Armitage walking in at the end of the previous night’s scene—with Peavey’s face buried between Dopheld’s cheeks, slurping the come out of his raw hole. It’s best to let Armitage imagine something far tamer.

 

 

When bedtime rolls around, the way Armitage is kissing him makes him nervous, because it’s the sort of kissing that proceeds sex. While he can hardly fault Hux for wanting to get off with him after ten days away, it worries Dopheld. What if he gives away his mistakes? Now isn’t the time for that mess—surely Armitage deserves a round of decent sex and rest without drama.

After all, Armitage spent those days and nights alone with his hands. He didn’t have a full ship’s complement of able-bodied men to amuse him the way Dopheld did. (Thanisson, Peavey, and the pilot, not to mention the eleven unnamed individuals who’d enjoyed his mouth and throat.)

With a rising panic, he attempts to compile a catalogue of all the things to avoid: 1) Begging. 2) Asking to be used, violated, wrecked, or bred. 3) Calling Armitage ‘sir,’ ‘Master,’ or ‘Daddy.’ 4) Saying, “Go easy on me—I was fucked hard yesterday.” 5) Referring to himself as a slut, bitch, whore, or come-dump. Or acting like one.

That’s going to severely limit his repertoire. He hasn’t had sweet, vanilla sex in months. Even with Thanisson, he’d pleaded to be banged like a hooker. Or maybe he’d said rentboy. Not that specifics matter.

“How long has it been?” Armitage whispers, interrupting the mental list of filth and degradation. “How long since we made love?”

Dopheld’s stomach performs a series of flips at the question. First of all because it confirms his suspicions in regards to his boyfriend’s intentions. And secondly because of the phrasing. With Armitage, it isn’t fucking or shagging or screwing. It’s a physical expression of—

Of all the things Dopheld is actively undermining. Every chance he gets.

He wants to cry. “Too long,” he admits hoarsely. Knowing he should apologise for so very much, he looks up at Armitage helplessly. _Take what you need from me, I won_ _’t complain. Not just sex, either._ _Demand my remorse, demand monogamy._ Because without orders, Dopheld is unlikely to ever follow through. An ultimatum delivered in no uncertain terms might do the trick, though: Shape up or ship out.

Not that there’s much chance Armitage would want to keep him around, once he knew the extent of it.

One small mercy: at least he’s still clean (confirmed this morning before his shift). He won’t be putting Armitage’s physical health at risk. (Just his emotional and mental wellbeing.) What a relief.

His anxiety keeps him relatively quiet during this tumult of thought. He hardly speaks. He’s sore from yesterday evening with Peavey, but can’t explain that. Instead, once Armitage enters him, he whispers, “Go easy, Armitage. It’s been a while.”

“Months,” Hux agrees, slowing his pace and kissing Dopheld’s cheek just below his left eye. “I’m sorry I’m away so much.”

“So am I.”

“But it’s temporary,” the redhead assures him again for good measure. “Once this project is complete—”

“I know. I’ll have you back.” _But will you ever have me back? Did you ever have me to begin with?_

A crinkle disrupts the spot between Hux’s ginger eyebrows, a sure sign of a doubt or concern. But it vanishes as abruptly as it arose. “We’ll have each other back,” Armitage promises.

Vague as it is, this is the closest they’ve come to discussing Dopheld’s infidelity. “Yes,” Dopheld agrees. “Finally.”

Armitage rests his forehead in the crook of Dopheld’s neck as his movements gain momentum again. Dopheld locks his ankles around Armitage’s lower back and squeezes his eyelids shut tight. Panting onto Dopheld’s skin, Armitage shouts—and the sound is high-pitched, vulnerable, almost a noise of pain. Dopheld’s fingertips dig into his boyfriend’s shoulders and he ruts up against Armitage’s stomach, desperate to finish now that he can feel the release spreading inside him.

“Love you,” Armitage whispers, and Dopheld chokes on his own breath.

“Love you, too,” he croaks as everything converges on a single minuscule point, that _word_ , before exploding. “Maker—Armitage—love—” he gasps.

 

 

After, he perches on the toilet and lights a cigarra. Hux himself rarely smokes, has mostly given up the habit excepting certain moments of egregious stress.

The general watches him through the doorway, still lounging on their bed. “I may have to have Peavey executed,” he says breezily, ducking his head to examine his cuticles.

Goosebumps rise over Dopheld’s entire body and his face goes numb. “Peavey?” he asks.

“Yes. Edrison Peavey, Captain of the First Order, stationed on the _Finalizer_ ,” Armitage rattles off with a smile playing around his lips. “You may have heard of him. You can attend the execution if you’d like. Or even serve on the firing squad.”

 _If that_ _’s how he’s going to respond, I may actually be good in the future. If he kills every other man I’m with._ “Why do you say that?”

“You should _read_ the status reports he sends, Phel. He writes them like he thinks he’s a bloody novelist.”

“Oh, I see,” Dopheld answers noncommittally while washing his hands. Is Hux testing him? Feigning obliviousness while dropping hints? Or is Dopheld just paranoid?

“You’d doubtless agree with me if you had to read a thirty-page narration on the status of communication upgrades. Where does he find the time?”

Dopheld wonders if that was the paperwork Peavey had been working on when he’d swung by to interrupt him in his office. Once again, he feels frustration bubble up from his gut. _Why, for fuck_ _’s sake, does Armitage have to be so good and follow the rules all the damn time? Why can’t he just every now and then order me into his office for an on-duty blowjob?_

Why couldn’t Armitage Hux be half as authoritative in the bedroom as he is on the bridge?

Returning to the bed to slip under the sheets, Dopheld drifts off to sleep while berating himself for blaming Armitage for his own indiscretions. Armitage has good reason to avoid abusing his power, and it’s horrible of Dopheld to fault him for that.

 

 

 

Dopheld’s personal comm buzzes at dinner the next night. They’ve chosen to stay in for a quiet evening together and Dopheld is feeling jumpy—not that his boyfriend seems to notice.

“Who’s that?” Armitage asks casually, not sounding much concerned.

Flicking his eyes down to the screen, Dopheld sees the word _Flyboy_ and answers, “Unamo.”

_—Hey. How you been?_

“I’m guessing the two of you spent a good deal of time together while I was away.”

“You’d be correct. I learned a bit too much about her close relationship with her vibrator.” His mind plays a flashback of the pilot ramming him into the console. Dopheld had woken up with a few oddly-shaped bruises on his back from various knobs and switches, but the payout had been well worth it. He hears the squadron leader call him a hot piece of trash, and makes a mental note to reply after Hux ships out again. He hopes a delayed response won’t make Pilot think he’s uninterested, but he can’t for the life of him recall if he’d told the man about his relationship, or his cheating.

(You could charge for this.)

Hux snorts. “I see. But if she wants to go for a drink or two, feel free to meet up with her. I don’t mind.”

“No, you’re only home for a short while,” Dopheld insists, discreetly switching his notifications off and returning the comm to his pocket. “I want to spend this time with you.” He is assigning priority to the man in front of him. This will be a trial run: three days of monogamy. To prove he can do it.

(He may still fail.)

 

 

This is the third night, and Armitage’s last before he return to base. Dopheld has made it without seeing—or even flirting with—anyone else. Despite that, he is hardly in the mood for lovemaking, so when bedtime hits and the two of them switch into their pyjamas, he clambers over to Hux’s side and sits between his legs.

Hux peers over his tablet and raises an eyebrow.

“Let me show you how much I’ll miss you,” Dopheld whispers, and Armitage’s lips part to let out a gust of breath.

“Far be it from me to decline one of your blowjobs,” the redhead responds. He sets the datapad to one side and watches while Dopheld pulls down his pants, reaches for his soft cock, and bends down. “Hell,” he curses. “I’m still shocked at how good you are with your mouth.”

 _You don_ _’t want to know why,_ Dopheld thinks bitterly. _Because I keep my skills honed with plenty of practise._

After just a few moments, Armitage does something unusual and runs his fingers through Dopheld’s hair. The lieutenant can’t keep an immediate moan from escaping his throat. He isn’t accustomed to any sort of active participation from his boyfriend, only passive enjoyment. He pauses and glances up, locking eyes with Armitage.

“No, don’t stop. Phel, please—”

Such a gentleman, even with his cock filling Dopheld’s mouth. He never demands, never takes—

 _And there you have it. That_ _’s the trouble right there._ Still, it’s impossible to hold that against him, not without feeling like an arsehole.

Feeling an utter arsehole, Dopheld shuts his eyes and once again imagines that Armitage has ordered him to do all the work. _(_ _“I’m too tired to fuck your face tonight, so you’ll need to service me. Be a good whore for me, Lieutenant.”)_

It works reasonably well, at least it does until Armitage is close, his thighs trembling and his hand tentatively fisting in the air. “Phel, my love—I’m nearly there.”

Dopheld doubles down to finish the job. Once he has swallowed everything and is sitting back up, Armitage reaches for him.

“Let me return the favour,” the redhead offers.

Shaking his head, Dopheld flops over onto his side of the bed and responds to the ceiling. “No, thanks.” If he sounds sullen, he doesn’t intend to. He’s just tired and out of sorts. Being on his best behaviour for seventy two straight hours will do that to a young man unaccustomed to being good.

“Why ever not?” Armitage asks, blinking rapidly in surprise.

“Because I’m going to miss you too much as it is. I don’t think I’d enjoy it much.” His lips are still numb, but the jabbing guilt is already back. He doesn’t deserve an orgasm from Hux, not after all those he’s had at the hands of other men.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Can I hold you, then?”

How could he decline? After the lights are shut, Dopheld permits Armitage to sling an arm over his waist, to rest his palm over Dopheld’s heart. The easy show of intimacy has tears leaking from his eyes. He sniffles and knows there’s no hiding it.

“I hate to leave again so soon. I know you’re lonely, but I swear an end is in sight.”

“How much longer?” Dopheld whispers into the dark room. It hurts to get the words out, his throat is so constricted with the effort to avoid all-out sobbing.

“Another few months of this.”

He nods, even though Armitage can’t see the gesture—but perhaps he can sense the movement, close as they are where they lay. “All right. I can cope.”

Neither speaks about Dopheld’s method of coping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Detailed content notes: Hux returns to the Finalizer for three days - Mitaka vows not to cheat during that time - They have sex, it's emotional - Misunderstanding of a joke temporarily leads Mitaka to believe that Hux is threatening Peavey due to Mitaka's cheating - They briefly talk about the toll their physical separation is taking on their relationship - Mitaka receives a message from a hookup but ignores it while Hux is home - Mitaka gives Hux a farewell blowjob and declines any reciprocation, feeling unworthy of it - Consistent negative self-talk from Mitaka throughout the chapter


End file.
